A/n: This prompt was intriguing to me, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Hope you like it! (just warning you, updates may be sporadic, but I do plan on finishing this, OP!)
June
England's first surprise came on the first day when he first saw his "little" colony again. He had been expecting to find the little boy that he'd left, once scarcely higher than his chin. America was still clearly a boy, but nothing like little anymore. He was even taller than England now, and although he was still gangly it was plain to see that he was already starting to fill out. It wouldn't be long until his chest and arms matched those broad shoulders. His voice didn't even crack. England wondered how long he had until everyone took him for an adult, probably not very judging by the ages at which his people tended to marry.
Once he got over his initial shock, he found himself somewhat sad. America was easily his favorite colony. America was somewhat of a special project to him. There was something about him that had drawn England in, made him see potential. Maybe it was that he saw something of himself in the boy, what he could have been if he had lived a life free from his brothers' abuse. He had wanted to be there for America through his awkward adolescent years.
"Come on, England! I did so much work to the house, you've just gotta see this!"
Of course, it was hard to stay melancholy when he seemed so excited about and proud of the things he had done, the ways he had grown. England felt as though he absorbed part of that energy as he allowed America to point out everything he'd done. It was all good workmanship. It seemed he had a reason to be proud after all.
It seemed that even in his absence England had managed to raise him alright after all.
He was going to be quite attractive once he was fully grown as well. England could see it already: the hard, masculine lines of his face hidden behind the last traces of baby fat, the strength his body would have when he decided to grow out now that he was likely done with up. And then, of course, he had his soulful blue eyes, his soft golden hair, and that energetic personality.
Maybe in a decade or two, England thought, he'd be ready to take. He hoped he could be there for that too, but for less pure reasons than the transition he'd missed. It wasn't as though America was his child. America was a nation, and although they may have referred to each other as family, they didn't possess that sort of bond. America was more England's student than his son. He took care of himself as they all did, he simply had more guidance than most.
Family was different. It was very, very different. He pressed a hand against his stomach, thinking of all the children he'd birthed over the years. Not many compared to other nations, only five, but he had loved them and watched after them until they didn't need him anymore. Even now he had a Twenty-two-year-old son back in London, with a wife and one child three years old and another on the way. Jonathan was the reason he hadn't come back and the reason he left in the first place. He fled across the sea as soon as he knew he would go into heat. He wanted to wait until he was home and choose the most suitable "father" for his child, but couldn't stand the voyage and convinced the best man on the ship to impregnate him.
That was how it worked: there were times when nations became fertile, either because of crops or a population boom, and they became pregnant. There were no exceptions. If they resisted the desire invaded their minds, driving them mad until they were no better than whores, begging anyone who produced sperm to fuck them.
It wasn't always that bad. Most of the time he'd had sex with an ally or even just a human he'd grown fond of. Two of his children were Portugal's and one had been a kind but lonely man he lived next door to when he was in Kent for a short time.
(The other one had been France, a sort of peace treaty to end the 100 years war. He didn't love Mary any less than the others. There was nothing French about her in the slightest)
"Hey, old man," America said, turning back to him and grinning, "You alive in there?"
"America, I don't bloody care that you're taller than me now," he snapped, startled and therefore inclined to shout, "I am your superior and you will address me as such."
He shrugged, "Other stuff wasn't getting through. I was asking if you wanted to go for a ride. I know a place not far from here that's really pretty in the afternoons."
England rolled his eyes, "Well, alright. I suppose I'll allow you to drag me out into the wilderness."
"Awesome! Come on!" America grabbed his wrist and led him off to the stables.
England shook his head. He could see he had his work cut out for him if he as much as hoped to have the boy act properly again.
A/n: Gonna be a little like the attention whore I am here: If you liked this fill, please, please, please leave a comment. I live off of your love.
July
America still wasn’t quite used to the idea of having England around again. Maybe it was because it felt different than the other times they’d lived together. There was some sort of tension, drawing America deeper but forcing him away at the same time. Maybe he’d just forgotten about it? Twenty three years wasn’t a long time for England, but that was almost a quarter of America’s whole life. It made it really, really hard to tell…
All he knew was that it was fantastic and agonizing at the same time to be with England. As they sat across from each other, eating, America was consumed by both the desire to slide next to England and lean on him and to stay where he was because he was scared to get that close. All he knew was that he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, watching his mouth as he brought a piece of meat to his lips, the almost harsh line of his jaw as he chewed, and the chords of his neck as he swallowed. Of course, there was good reason for him to be watching him. England was right across the table and they were talking. Still, he was sure he had never before noticed all those little details, like the way that his thin, long fingers carefully handled his fork and knife. He wondered why on earth he hadn’t, because he had been missing out on a great show.
“Are you alright, America?” England asked standing and coming over to his side. He placed a hand on America’s forehead, “You look flushed and you’re just staring blankly at me.”
America blushed redder more because of the touch than the embarassment. He wanted to shove England away and pull him into his lap at the same time. He looked up to meet England’s eyes. Did he want to shove him away and insist he was fine or ask what was wrong with him and why he’d started feeling so queasy?
When they made eye contact, England startled. He pulled his hand away and knelt down to be at America’s level, “America, love, as soon as we finish eating you should go up to your room. Rest. Don’t worry about this, you’ll be alright.” He lovingly brushed America’s bangs. America frowned. Usually England kissed his forehead or hair. Maybe he just didn’t wanna get sick?
After dinner he dutifully laid down in bed, but there was no way he could sleep. It was still light out! He looked out the window instead, watching the grass and tree branches beyond move in the wind, and traced random patters on his pillow. All he could think of was England, remembering them sitting and playing out in that field and hunting and riding in the forest.
He rolled onto his back. He wanted to go out and play with England. Since he’d come he’d always put up a fight about that, saying that America was too old for that nonsense, and he was far too distinguished to comply in the first place. America smiled; he could always get him to go with it anyway. A few days ago he’d even talked him into wrestling.
It had been a lot of fun. It felt so good to go against someone who he actually had to work to keep up with for once! True, he was stronger and had a longer reach now, but England was fast and flexible. America would grab him one second and he’d be free again the next. And he was really distracting too. Whenever America touched him he felt a shock course through his entire body.
So there was a really good reason that he lost! That must have been why he didn’t mind that England had managed to shove him to the ground and pin him, or even that he gloated a little by grinning wolfishly down at him and saying “My, my, America, you’ve gotten much stronger than last time but you’re still no match for me!”
But now why when he thought back to that day was he putting more emphasis on the way the sun shone through his even messier than usual hair, the flush of his cheeks, the almost wild look in his eyes, and why did that make his stomach tighten and roll?
It was then that his subconscious truly betrayed him. He imagined England closing those green eyes and leaning down to kiss him, not on the temple as he actually had, but on the lips. Their mouths opened and their tongues pressed together hot and wet and-
What. The fuck.
America rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under the pillow. What the hell was he thinking?! This was England he was talking about, his teacher, his friend. He was practically his father!
“Practically,” He thought, “But not actually.”
“Shut up!” He told himself, pressing the sides of the pillow down against his ears as though that would block out the voice in his head.
It was too late, far too late. He’d opened himself up to the torrent of images, touching England, being touched by England, fucking him, being fucked by him… Why?
He knew what sex was. His teachers had taught him the basics, how animals and humans procreated. Then Canada had passed on what he’d learned from France about men having sex with other men, and even more importantly how nations would have sex with nations they were close to when they were grown, no matter how they had felt about each other as children.
He sat up and pulled his knees close. No, that couldn’t be true. After all, France had said that someday he and Canada would be attracted to each other, and that was just gross!
It… It was still gross, right?
He tried to imagine himself kissing his brother, but it still felt wrong. Well, so did kissing England, really, but that was a good-but-bad-at-the-same-time wrong and kissing Canada was just-plain-gross wrong.
He rested his cheek on one of his knees. He still had time. If France was telling the truth nations didn’t touch children. It seemed pretty likely because he hadn’t tried to do anything to either him or Canada and England said he’d molest anything with a pulse. America sighed and lay back down. It was okay for now. He still had years to think it over, to decide how he felt about England.
A/N: I would just like to make it clear before going into this that in spite of England referring to him as a boy all the time, America is physically about 16 years old. While on that topic, warning for Ephebophilia in this chapter.
August
England didn't suspect that there was anything wrong with America for a long time. It had been clear for almost a month that he was attracted to England, but that was normal enough. After all, England could remember his own adolescence perfectly clearly, all the confused nights when he lay back with his tunic lifted, thinking about a hundred different people and unsure of how he felt about any of them. It was part of growing up and America would get past it. Hopefully not past England, but past the confusion.
No, the real person England worried about was himself. It was one thing to look at America and notice how attractive he'd grow to be. It was another thing entirely to actually want him as he was. It was wrong, disgusting even. England didn't know why he felt that way. He'd never had a problem with this sort of thing before. He hadn't been attracted to boys since he was one himself, since over three hundred years ago when he and Portugal had…
Well, that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he was attracted to a child!
He wasn't exactly a child, though, his treacherous thoughts reminded him. True, he was only about one hundred, but England guessed from his appearance that people his physical age married on a regular basis. Hell, from one point of view he had been younger when he first-
"Um… Hey England…"
Bloody hell, where had he come from? He forced himself to smile up at America. He looked worried, hands behind his back and looking down at his shoes. England set aside his embroidery to show that America had his attention.
"Yes, dear boy?"
"I- can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Of course, lad," He patted the cushion next to him.
"Thanks," America said, taking a seat.
"Now, what seems to be bothering you?"
"England… I'm scared."
England sighed, "America, I've told you a million times, there are no such things as ghosts."
"It's not about that!" He said a little too harshly, "This is serious!"
"Sorry, lad," England said, smiling, "I'll hear you out."
"I know I shouldn't have yelled," He shifted uncomfortably, "I just… I'm worried."
England furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but it certainly sounded serious…
"I've been feeling… weird lately and I don't know what to do about it. I know it's not just puberty or anything, because I haven't changed in the past seven years."
It was most likely something normal that he simply hadn't encountered yet, but it didn't hurt to make sure "So, what do you mean by 'weird' exactly?"
"Well, it's… Um…" He turned bright red, "This is really, really awkward, but… um."
"It's alright, love," England reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, "Whatever it is you can tell me."
America turned even redder, "I want sex. Like really, really want it. And it's just been getting worse and worse. I can barely think of anything else anymore," His voice cracked and he began speaking more quickly, "I can't concentrate, can barely do chores. Even my dreams are all me getting fucked or something that I know means the same thing. And they're so vivid, England, I would have pretty intense dreams before, but nothing like this. And the worst is when I don't dream of sex because then..." He looked away, "Then I dream about being pregnant, or giving birth, or holding a baby. And the feelings just gets worse and worse when I'm around you, so doing this is awful. I want it to stop, England," He looked back at England, tears were rolling down his face, "I don't feel like me. I want to go back to the way I was before. Please England, you told me you'd always help me, so please fix this."
England looked at him. It sounded as though he was… No, that wasn't possible. It was too early. America was only one hundred. Oh, but he had aged so quickly, and it did explain why they were both feeling like that… There was only one way to be sure.
"America," England said, making his voice as serious as possible, "I need to go into your bedroom."
"What? Why?"
"Just trust me. I think I know what's happening," He pulled him into a hug, "And if I'm right, I'm so, so sorry."
"England? England, what's wrong with me?" He looked absolutely terrified.
"It'll be alright, I promise it'll be alright."
"England, I'm scared."
"I know, I know," He pulled him closer, "But I want to be sure before I say anything."
"England, am I going to die?"
"No, America. You'll be alright. I promise that everything will be alright, but you have to trust me."
"Okay," America said meekly.
He followed England upstairs to his room, standing aside and letting England investigate. Normally he'd have to go and smell the bed or his pajamas or something like that. He was almost knocked out the moment he opened the door. It probably didn't help that it was one of those hot, sticky summer days, but the air was positively saturated with the smell of a nation in heat.
"My God, how long has this been going on?"
He had asked himself more than America, but the boy still looked ashamed, staring down at the floor.
England forced a smile and said, "Don't worry. This is completely natural and you're going to be perfectly fine."
"England," America said, much more sternly than he had before, "What's wrong with me?"
England stroked his hair, one last bit of comfort before he said, "Nothing's wrong with you, America. It's just-" He took a deep breath, "It's time for you to have your first child."
"What?" America looked down at himself as though he expected his stomach to have ballooned without his notice, "England, I've never even had sex."
"No, America, you're not pregnant now."
"But then what do you mean? I have the choice not to have a kid, don't I?"
England swallowed, "No, America," He said, "You really don't."
"All I have to do is not have sex for-"
"America, I know it's hard to understand but that's not an option." England took his hands.
"Of course it is!" America shouted, shaking him away, "Why wouldn't it be?"
England sighed and closed his eyes, "You've never been through this before, America, so you don't know what it's like after a few months. I've tried, America, I've tried so hard... Not even you can overcome biology like that."
"But I- England, I'm not ready for a kid!"
England wrapped his arms America, who proceeded to bury his face in England's chest and be unusually still.
Christ, this was so different from when he'd learned he was going to be pregnant. That was the difference between a 100-year-old and a 900-year-old, most likely. England had had so much more time to live, to grow a mental and emotional longing so that when the physical ones came everything fell into place.
A/n: Hi guys! I'm not dead, but I am pretty sick. I'm sorry if this sucks, but I wanted to give you all something.
It was during the fourth day that week that America found himself heaving his guts out into the spare chamber pot as soon as he awoke that he decided there was no point in denying it anymore. Feeling numb, he stood and placed his hand on his stomach, wondering dully how long he had until he'd barely be able to recognize it.
"Is something wrong, love?" England asked, propping himself up with an elbow. "Other than the obvious, I mean."
"I'm pregnant, aren't I? Like really, actually, pregnant."
England sighed. "You have been, America. I told you, there's no point in fretting about it. After all, you and that child are going to be better taken care of than any other nation and child in history."
"But I-"
"No buts!" He sat up, "You trust me, don't you."
"Of course I do." He looked down, "You know that."
"Then trust me when I say- America look at me!" America looked up to meet England's eyes, already so bright before the sun had as much as peeked over the horizon. He placed his hands over his stomach reflexively, his mind focused on how he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, "Trust me when I say that everything will be alright."
"O-okay," America said, holding his eye contact long enough not to get scolded.
"Now," England smiled again, letting America feel less exposed, "I know it's a bit late, but are you coming back to bed?"
"No," America took his newfound freedom to turn away and stretch, "I'm plenty awake now. Besides, it's gonna start getting cold soon, so I wanna be outside as much as possible."
England shrugged and laid back down, "Suit yourself."
America dressed himself quickly in his work clothes, wanting to get away from the room and the disgusting smell of his own vomit as quickly as possible. He paused only to take a drink from the pitcher of water on the bedside table to try to remove the foul taste from his mouth before leaving the house.
There was already a chill in the air. It pressed against his skin in an unwanted embrace. He pulled his cloak closer to shake it off. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was stuck indoors with a blanket wrapped around him all day every day. What great timing God had to give him two sources of misery at once! He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He went into the stable and walked over to his horse. She was a beautiful palomino, and although she had once been highly athletic and energetic she'd slowed and fattened up a bit with age.
"Hey, Carrot," He said, gently petting her muzzle, "How've you been? Sorry I haven't been out here much, baby. I've had other things on my mind."
She leaned down to nuzzle his stomach, and for a moment America was struck by the ridiculous idea that somehow she knew. "No, that's stupid." He thought, "She's saying 'hi.' That's how she always says 'hi.'" Still, though, he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Instead he took a step back and went to feeding her and England's horse.
He watched them as they ate, feeling as though he was standing two feet further back than he actually was. Once they had finished he went to gather his gear.
"You ready to go for a ride, girl?" He asked, placing the old, faded blanket across her back. "It's not gonna be too far, just out to the cliff. Just you and me. It'll be fun."
She gently prodded his arm with her muzzle, which he took to be a yes. He finished getting her ready and led her out of the stable before climbing into the saddle. America gave her strong neck one last pat before urging her forward into the woods.
It was an easy ride down a well-worn, well-loved path. Either of them could probably find their way on a pitch-dark night, and as it was with the beginning of morning light beginning to peek through the trees America had plenty of time to look around and notice the animals beginning to stir. Some of the last robins were singing and fresh fallen leaves crunched beneath Carrot's hooves. She began to pull him lightly, asking to go faster.
"You wanna run?" He asked, smiling, "Maybe you're less burnt out than we give you credit for." She whinnied and shook her head, "Alright, then, let's do this!"
He shook the reins, gave her a light kick, and leaned down against her neck. She took off like she was a filly again. America laughed and shook his head, allowing himself to forget his problems in lieu of enjoying the wind in his hair and the feeling of having Carrot gallop beneath him. It had been a while since they ran like that together, but they remembered. He knew Carrot and Carrot knew him. When they moved they moved as one, hurtling through the trees in a direction they were both absolutely certain of.
She slowed back to a trot as they began to climb the hill. America felt much lighter and slightly breathless. They reached the crown of the hill at just the right time. The sky was flecked with reds and purples although the sun wasn't quite above the treetops. America turned his head to get the full view and took a deep breath. There was no better lookout for miles, nowhere that anyone but an eagle could see so clear for so far. He slid from Carrot's saddle and sat on the edge of the cliff. What was normally an endless sea of green appeared almost completely orange and yellow. It was hard to say if it was simply the light or if fall was really coming that quickly. Carrot followed him, stopping a safer distance away from the edge like she always did.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" He asked, "You got us totally lost." She made a disapproving noise, "You did! And then I noticed this hill and I thought maybe I could figure out where we were. I didn't think we'd get a view like this!" He laughed. "God… That was fifteen years ago, wasn't it?" He stared out at the trees, feeling suddenly heavy and cold. He hopped to his feet and brushed off his behind.
"But it's been fun, right? At least most of the time, I mean. At least when it was just us and we didn't have to deal with the Jeffersons." He placed a hand lightly on her flank, "I'm sorry I had to use you like that, but you remember what it was like. It wasn't always this easy." He allowed his hand to slide down so that it was at his side again. He walked back out to the edge, training his eyes on the horizon in the hopes of the sun appearing to distract him.
"What was it like for you?" He asked softly. "What was it like to come back home and know that you weren't just you anymore? Were you happy? Sad? You didn't really seem to mind one way or the other." He swallowed, "I wish it was like that for me too. I'm scared, carrot. I'm really, really scared."
"How did you do it?" He asked, turning and walking back towards her, "It didn't bother you one bit until you were about to foal. But me, I-" He looked away, "Why am I even talking to you about this? You're a stupid horse! You probably didn't even know!"
She reached over and nipped his hair affectionately. America wasn't sure if she was trying to tell him she understood, or if she had just sensed that he was unhappy and was trying to cheer him up in the only way she knew how.
"It's not even like I'm worried about anything physical. England's gonna take just as good care of me as I did of you. It's just…" He took a deep breath, "I'm not ready, Carrot. I can't take care of a kid. I'm pretty much a kid myself! I'm too young. I just can't-" He turned and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her warm, earthy scent.
He couldn't help it anymore. He let himself cry, sobbing hard against her short, bristly fur. She, at least, was willing to wait for him.
England had thought that the sex would stop once America accepted he was pregnant. After all, once England realized he was up the duff he tended to run away and head off to a house miles away from society to wait for the baby to come.
America was different. Even the day that he ran away with his horse he came right back and pressed himself against England in a tight embrace. He didn't blame England; he wasn't angry with him. He just seemed sort of... empty. It was rather strange from England's point of view. After all, for him usually having a child was a way not to feel so alone.
Still, he did what he could to comfort the poor lad. Thankfully, often times it was rather nice for him as well.
Like, for example, the way that America was currently making eyes at him from across the supper table. He succeeded in suppressing his grin down to a sly smirk. Such a lewd thing he'd become in such a short amount of time! Of course, England was just as bad. There had been just as many evenings when he would reach out and pet America's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss and then slowly working him up to something more.
But for the time being he had to play the game. He pretended not to notice the look on America's face, instead choosing to focus on carefully slicing a piece of meat and bringing it to his mouth. He felt America's eyes on him, even though he turned his head to look out the window. He fought the urge to look back, to see America blushing as he watched him. England could never actually understand America's fascination with watching him eat, but he didn't mind. After all, it wasn't as though he was without his fair share of kinks and this one of America's was easy to exploit.
England was just glad that the servants left them alone after providing supper. It never did anyone any good to have rumors of sodomy or incest flying about, and he'd rather not have eyewitnesses for what humans would take to be incestuous sodomy.
"England?" America asked.
"Yes, darling?" England replied, turning back to face him.
"We're not even going to make it to the sitting room tonight, are we?"
England twirled his fork in his hand as though deep in thought, "I suppose you're right. It's a shame, too. I was hoping to seduce you by reading erotic poetry aloud this time."
America visibly shivered pleasantly, "Maybe tomorrow. I need you now." He set down his knife and fork
"You're awfully eager tonight. You've scarcely touched your food."
"I'm not hungry."
"America," England said sternly, "You need to eat."
He huffed, "I don't wanna."
"America, this isn't like you." This wasn't something he wanted to play around with. He stood and walked over to America's side of the table, "Your appetite is usually insatiable as it is, and now you have a growing child to feed." America's face fell at the mention of the baby, but England kept going, "It's more important that you get your nutrients now than it ever was before."
"Can't we talk about this later?" He squirmed uncomfortably.
That was no good. He had promised to protect America and that included from his own thick-headedness. Maybe England could get him to respond well to some coaxing.
"Come now, love, it's not all that bad." England pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, letting his eyes fall half-closed, "After all, I'm sure I can make this worth your while too..."
America blushed and sputtered, "W-what are you talking about?"
England grabbed America's fork and speared a piece of potato. He turned to him, making sure to let their knees brush and held it out to him, "Go on, be a good lad and open up."
America's blush grew even more intense as he dutifully opened his mouth and leaned forward to take the morsel.
"Mmm, very nice." He pulled the fork away and America swallowed hard. He tried again, this time cutting a strip of meat before offering it.
America became more and more flustered as the rest of his food disappeared in a similar manner, his face a delightful combination of embarrassment and arousal. America's britches weren't the only ones that were rather tight by the time his plate was empty.
"There," England said, placing the knife and fork back down on the table, "That wasn't so horrible, was it?" He frowned and clicked his tongue, "But don't you see what you've done? What food of mine was left must have grown cold by now. That's no good!" He ran a finger down America's arm, "And bad boys have to go straight to bed after supper."
America's face lit up like the sky at dawn and he bounced out of his seat, "Whelp, gotta follow the rules. Let's go get my punishment started." He winked at England, making him chuckle.
England allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom. The servants had started a fire in the fireplace a while ago and it was burning happily away, giving the room a rather pleasant warmth. England took a moment to be grateful for that. After all, the evenings were starting to get rather cold and they were about to be naked. America didn't give him much time to think on that, though, because as soon as the door shut he found himself being pressed against it and kissed hard.
"My, my, America," England said as soon as they pulled apart, "you're being rather assertive tonight."
"You made me sit through all that shit at the table," he huffed, "I'm not gonna wait anymore."
"Fair Enough," England said, running a hand through America's hair, "Then you're in charge. What do you plan on doing to me?"
America grinned and picked him up. England let out a squawk, but America didn't pay him any mind as he carried him over to the bed and set him down gently.
"Well, first off. I'm gonna get you out of these clothes."
He crawled over England and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat from the top with his teeth as his hands began working on the bottom. England just lay back and watched in awe as the very same America who was usually so docile in the bedroom tore at his clothing with the ferocity of a wounded bear. He swallowed and felt himself blushing. If this was how America acted when felt he had been denied sex for too long, England would have to start denying him on a regular basis.
His shirt quickly received the same treatment as his waistcoat. He sat for a moment in order to shuck them along with his overcoat and throw them to the ground. America didn't even give him time to lie back before he was furiously undoing his breeches. England lifted his hips and allowed America to slide them off along with his hose. However, when America reached for his shift, England took his wrists to stop him.
"That's not fair, love," He said softly, "I refuse to be bare while you're still fully dressed."
He flipped them and straddled America's thighs. He slowly undid America's waistcoat, taking the time to make him squirm and grow even more aroused. By the time his shirt was undone America was writhing on the bed and mewling in a way that was high-pitched and desperate. It was time to indulge him, to finally give him the payoff he deserved.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" He placed his hand over America's groin and gave it a small squeeze. America positively keened at the contact. "Well don't worry, I'm not any better off than you." He said, gesturing to his own prominent erection, his shift doing absolutely nothing to hide it.
A/n: Sorry this took so long! I had very little time to sit down and write and in what time I did have this didn't wanna come out :/ I think it's because of the time period. They both seem so OOC when I'm writing them in this time period, just because the normal tsundere aspect has just started developing at best.
November
England fired the servants. It wasn't like they were doing a bad job or anything, but really their main purpose had been to keep America company and England did that well enough on his own. Besides, America was happy for the work. He had missed getting his hands dirty and actually doing things. Sitting around all day was so boring.
(They'd also both realized it was better to get rid of them now when America was still thin rather than have too many people see him once he started showing. Even though they would probably never suspect a man to be pregnant, they might begin to have thoughts of witchcraft if he got bigger and bigger and bigger until one day he was skinny again and had a baby with him. America had had more than enough problems with those sort of accusations. He didn't wanna play that game again.)
The other nice thing was getting to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He'd been so tired lately, like he'd been doing heavy labor when all he'd actually done was go around the house and dust, so it was nice to be able to go upstairs and nap whenever he felt the urge.
Some days, though, he simply wasn't tired. It seemed his body sometimes understood that he was still mostly wandering around the house doing nothing. Hell, the most physically intense thing he did these days was sleep with England (and oh, how nice it was to do that wherever he wanted! The servants had scarcely been gone for two weeks by the time they'd done it in every room of the house). He missed working the land, though. He would have liked to get out and plow soil or something but it was the wrong time of year. The first snow had fallen and even if he did get through it the dirt would probably be rock-solid beneath. But, of course, that meant at the moment he was bored and had nothing to do. Maybe he'd go find England.
He began to poke around the first floor. He obviously wasn't in the sitting room, since that was where America had been, but the kitchen, dining room, and front salon had all gotten similar results. He went upstairs and found him, to his surprise, curled up in bed.
America took a moment to engrain the image in his memory. The curtains were open and so the mid-afternoon light fell across England's face, making him seem to glow. His body was relaxed in a way it could never quite reach when he was conscious. He was curled around a pillow and with a jolt America recognized it as his own.
Suddenly everything felt a little less happy and cute. He noticed the way that England had his nose buried in the pillow, most likely trying desperately to take in what of America's scent stuck to it.
He walked over to the bed and pulled his pillow away. For a moment England frowned and reached out for what he had lost, but he was pacified when America slipped beneath the covers next to him. He smiled even wider than he had before as he pulled America flush against his chest.
How long had it been since either of them had slept alone? Had they been separate since the first time? Hell, that was only three months ago, wasn't it? Three months and America couldn't even imagine lying back in his own room all alone.
Well, he told himself as he closed his eyes and snuggled against England, there was no point in worrying about it now. He still had twenty years until-
Oh hell, twenty years. They weren't humans where that was almost half a lifetime. America might have to go on forever with nothing but an empty bed and memories. He felt tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't want England to leave, he didn't want to be alone again. If only there was some way to keep him longer, like if somehow when the first baby was fully grown he could force himself into heat and have another. He swallowed. He wouldn't even be able to do it once, much less for centuries on end. But damn, wouldn't it be nice? As soon as one kid could live on its own he'd just pop out another and keep England forever.
But that wasn't fair, was it? He pulled away to look at England's sleeping face. This wasn't his home. He didn't belong here, not really. Maybe to visit, but America knew from experience how hard it was to leave your land for an extended period of time. He had been so homesick when England had taken him to meet the king, how could England stay on the wrong side of the Atlantic for so long? It was selfish to keep him, but nations were meant to be selfish. England had told him time and time again that a nation must first do what most benefits their people and themselves and only once they're taken care of should they worry about others. So it should have been perfectly fine to keep England around for as long as possible, right?
Except… it wasn't like England was the only one who would be taken advantage of. America pressed his hand against his stomach, allowing himself to feel for the first time. If he pushed gently he could feel his womb, already round and firm even if there wasn't any difference in his appearance. All this time he'd been thinking of the baby as nothing but a burden, a mere thing that was going to hold him back and force him to do a whole bunch of things he didn't want to do. Until now he hadn't thought of it as a person. Was it even fair to call it a person when it was so little? Even if it wasn't one now, it would end up as one, wouldn't it?
God, he'd been thinking of just using it as an anchor for England and swapping it out for another when it had outlived its usefulness. By the time it was twenty it would have its own dreams and aspirations and maybe even a family of its own. The thought was mind-boggling to America. He was carrying a person, a real person- and he'd wanted to kill it!
He began sobbing openly into England's shift. All the things he might have lost to his own damn selfishness! He pictured his little baby, all soft and pudgy with big blue eyes and stubby fingers and toes and-
They lay together out in the tall grass of the meadow, both of them flat on their backs. England looked up at the deep blue sky, its color only occasionally interrupted when a wispy cloud floated by far, far above their heads. He hummed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the sun lapping at him like waves on the beach of a lake. The wind blew softly, just enough to cool the summer air and make the grass tickle his bare arms and neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of summer, and turned to look at his partner.
America was beside him, right were he belonged. He was spread-eagled and taking up as much room as possible, as he was wont to do with his shirt unbuttoned so as to absorb as much of the sun as possible. England propped himself up on his elbow so as to make his appreciation of America easier. The boy deserved the stares. He was so beautiful like this, hair yellower than ripe wheat, that skin yet untouched by battle that went on as far as his vast land stretched over his toned stomach and chest. Oh, England hoped that for a thousand years poets would cross America's land and write of what they saw in their best words so that the people back in Europe could have the slightest inkling of the beauty that lay next to him now.
It was then that America opened his eyes and looked back at him. Damn, there was no comparing even the sky to those deep blue eyes. No sapphires in any king's crown, no ocean no matter the day could match the depth and color that was staring straight back and him and making America's gorgeous smile all the brighter.
"America," England said, "I lo-"
"Hey, wake up." America said, frowning.
And England did. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed, looking at an America not beside him looking pleased, but bent over him looking slightly annoyed. At least he still wasn't fully clothed, as he held his breeches in his hand.
England huffed and sat up, "Why did you wake me? I was having the loveliest dream."
America grinned just to annoy England, "You sleep too much anyway. It can't be good for you."
"You're the one who goes to bed nearly at sunset, even though it's at, what, four in the afternoon now?"
He blushed, "Hey, I'm pregnant. Cut me some slack. Speaking of which," He held the breeches out to England, "You forgot to take these out when you did the others. When I tried to put them on they didn't close."
England sighed and reluctantly got out of bed, going for his own clothes, "Can't you just wear your other ones?"
"Come on, it's Christmas! I wanna look good! Well-" He looked down at his stomach, "As good as possible."
England rolled his eyes and began dressing himself, "Come now, America, you're scarcely showing. Once you have more than your shirt on no one will be able to tell. I've seen you measuring it and even I can't tell when you're fully dressed."
"You mean it?" He looked far too hopeful for England to tease him.
"I do."
America smiled, "That's good. I mean… I don't want people to think I'm fat."
"Even if they do, I know better. And I'm the one who warms your bed, remember."
"I-I do," America said with a blush. He turned around and left the room, "I'm gonna make breakfast. Come down when you're done!"
England smiled to himself and went to sit down at his desk with his needle and thread, beginning the process of loosening America's waistband. He'd have to make new clothes for him soon enough. He wrinkled his nose. America wouldn't even appreciate it, probably. When he saw how big they'd have to start he'd throw a fit, even though England would take both the top and bottom in by a mile. The boy simply didn't understand the cost of cloth, not to mention how conspicuous it would be to keep having to go back and buy more. England sighed. And how would he even estimate how big America would be when he was due? He knew how massive he himself got, but America was built very differently, and England had never compared to anyone else in the first place. It would probably be better to overestimate and deal with America's whining than have to make a new set or let him wander around naked. Although, really, he was due in late May so maybe it would be alright to do the latter…
Oh, how he longed for the days when a long tunic and hose were an acceptable fashion. It made the whole child-bearing business a lot easier. Hell, even though it was far out of vogue, England would switch to them once he went into hiding. He had the feeling that America would throw a fit, though, saying that England was trying to humiliate him by making him dress like a girl. What a little brat pregnancy had turned America into! Although, hadn't he always been prone to tantrums all along?
"God," He thought, "Why couldn't Canada have gone into heat instead?"
He shook his head and went back to work. There was no point in lamenting over that now. He made his bed and he would have to sleep in it now. He'd promised America and he would do his duty as a man and as an Empire and fulfill that promise.
He tried to pretend that his dream meant nothing and his word was all that held him.
By the time the church service had ended America was practically bouncing in their pew. England couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was almost inspired by the boy. He still actually paid attention. It probably didn't help that England had been through enough services when he had been infatuated with religion that he could probably rattle off the readings for every day of the year in perfect Latin and they didn't get any more interesting when he became Protestant and the prayers switched to English. He didn't even have the lovely lilt of Latin then. But America was so attentive, drawn in with his people. England wasn't sure if it was a virtue or a vice, really, but it would no doubt work itself out in time. Of course, now that the time for prayer was over, there was only one thing on America's mind.
"Oh man, the festivals up here are so awesome! I guess people get better at partying when it's really cold. I saw Mrs. Brown cooking all these little cakes the other day and I hope she's sharing them!"
He blathered on and on about all the food he'd smelled cooking and all the musicians he'd heard practicing and how he really, really wanted to dance and Lucy Cooper kept looking at him so maybe he'd have a partner, and- England tuned him out and watched the other people slowly filing out of the church and into the village square. All he really wanted was some hot buttered rum to get rid of the chill that always leaked into churches this time of year and then to maybe see if any of the craftspeople were selling any little baubles he liked. His brothers and America might have taunted him for it, but he did appreciate finely made decorations. They were beautiful and far too easy to overlook in a world of war and hunger and strife. Besides, if he was going to be living in that house for the next twenty years he would his curio cabinet to look a little less desolate.
America paced back and forth across England's bedroom, one hand placed protectively over his belly. He stopped to look out the window for the twentieth time in half as many minutes, eyes fixed on the road to town. England wouldn't be coming back down that road for nearly a week, but it wasn't him America was worried about at the time. No, he was waiting for someone else entirely.
Finally, he saw her rounding the bend on her father's white horse. He was glad she'd brought her; Carrot would finally have some company out in the stables. Although it would still be a few minutes until she actually reached the house, America ran downstairs and stood eagerly behind the door. It would be so nice to see someone other than England again, especially her. He'd missed her so bad while he'd been cooped up inside.
After what felt like an eternity, she knocked on the door. America wanted to throw it right open and hug her until she couldn't breathe. He knew he would have to take it slowly, though. He didn't want to scare her too much.
"Hi, Lucy," He said, opening the door just a crack.
She was biting her knuckle through her leather gloves and staring at him concernedly, "You've been sick in bed for a month and now I get a letter that just says to come over as soon as Arthur left town. What's wrong, Alfred? You don't even look sick."
"You're right," He said, smiling a little for her, "I'm not sick."
"Then why haven't I heard from you since December?"
He bit his lip, "This'll be easier if you don't think of me as Alfred for a little bit. I'm America right now, okay?"
"Alright," She said slowly.
"Okay, good. Now remember how I told you nations do some things differently?" She nodded, "Well, this is one of those things." He opened the door.
She wrinkled her brow, "I don't understand."
"You will. Come in." He led her to the salon and had her sit on the couch. He took her hands in his in case she panicked and ran.
"Alfred, please, what is going on?"
He took a deep breath, "Lucy, I- I'm pregnant."
She didn't run. She just stared at him blankly, "You're… what?"
"I'm pregnant. That's why I've gained all this weight," He said, gesturing to his swollen belly.
"But you're a man."
"I know. Hey, if you don't believe me now she'll probably start kicking again soon."
"So then how…?"
"No one really knows," He said, placing his hand back on his stomach, "Sometimes nations just go into heat and it doesn't stop until we have a kid."
"So who's the- the father?"
"England," He said, smiling at the thought of his lover.
"Your brother?"
"H-he's not really my brother." America said quickly, "We just say that because it makes more sense to humans."
She sat still for a moment, clearly thinking the situation over. Her eyes raked all over America's body, from his hands to his stomach to his face. He just tried to be still and let her read what she needed to.
"Well," She said finally, "God made all kinds of creatures differently. If He made men who live forever, I suppose He could have them carry children too."
America smiled, glad beyond words that she understood.
"Will you stay with me?" He asked, "I mean, I like England and all, but I get tired of only being around him sometimes."
"I'll visit you when I can," she said, "I have to help around the house, you know. I mean, except for my mother I'm the only woman in the family."
"I don't think he trusts you. He's been a little overprotective of me lately. I don't want him to get mad at you."
"Is he alright? I mean, he's not mistreating you, is he?"
"What? No." America sat back, getting a bit more comfortable, "He's being absolutely fantastic. He's sweet and gentle and he takes really good care of me. It's just-"
"Just what?" She probed, leaning towards him.
"He treats me like such a kid sometimes. Sometimes I don't think he realizes I'm actually an adult, even with all this. Hell, there are plenty of times that it feels like he's just going with the 'give America whatever he wants' ideas when he takes me upstairs and-"
Lucy cleared her throat loudly. America blushed and looked away.
"Sorry," he muttered.
There was a moment of tense silence before Lucy spoke up again, "So how… how far along are you?"
"It was five months on Tuesday."
"You know the exact date?"
America chuckled, "Trust me, I'm pretty sure what day it happened. Anyway, it was kind of neat because that was when she first started kicking."
"How do you know it'll be a she?"
"Well, I've been craving sweet things and Arthur say's I'm carrying higher than he usually does, and from what I've heard that means it's a girl, right?"
Lucy laughed, "My mother was told I was another boy. That's not foolproof."
"She feels like a girl, though."
"What are you going to call her?"
"I'm not sure, yet. England and I were waiting to see what she was like to give her a name. I wanted Erin because it's a nice name, but he said he'd rather die than name his daughter after his sister. Right now we're thinking of Adrianna." As soon as he said the name, the baby delivered a harsh kick to his insides, "God! Do you like that or hate it?" He spared a glance at Lucy and found her staring at his belly. "You want to feel, don't you?"
She turned bright red. "I- that won't be necessary."
"It's alright. You know you can't lie to me. You're one of my babies too, you know."
"I know," She murmured, "it's still embarrassing."
He pulled his shirt out of his breeches, "Come on, don't worry about it. When are you gonna have the chance after you go to the convent?"
She smiled and reached out, "I suppose so."
Her hand felt weird. Only he and England had felt his bump before (well, them and Carrot, but her nuzzling didn't really count) and her hands were so different, smaller and pleasantly warm instead of ice cold or burning hot with nothing in between. Her touches were light and unsure, not at all like the comforting or possessive ones that he and England both used. He wasn't sure if it was Lucy or the cold air that sent the shiver down his spine, but as soon as that happened she pulled away.
"I'm still me, you know," He said, pulling his shirt down, "You don't have to be worried."
"I'm not."
America just smiled at her, knowing it wasn't true, "Come on, then, let's get something in you to warm you up and you can tell me what I've really missed in the last month."
In some ways, the long winter nights were the best times. England sat in his favorite armchair, working on knitting a blanket for the baby. America lay on the ground next to the fire with some new book England had bought for him when he was last in town.
"You do realize your back is going to hurt once you get up. If you can get up."
"Nah," America said, stretching briefly before returning to his curled up position. "I'm comfy like this."
England rolled his eyes, "Suit yourself."
He looked back down at the little blanket and sighed. He still had a long, long way to go and it was starting to get late.
He was about to yawn when America rolled onto his back and said, "Gettin' tired, England?"
For a moment England lost his tongue. He looked so beautiful like that, flat on his back with his stomach sticking out and that happy expression on his face. England didn't know what to say or do, so he relied on his first instinct.
"How would you know? You haven't even been looking!"
America laughed lightly, "Nope, but we've been stuck together for so long even I'm starting to pick up on this stuff." He traced patterns absentmindedly on his belly, "It's not like I have much else to do."
England pursed his lips. America was such a free spirit, it must have been hard for him to be kept inside, separated from his people. It would have been better if he could have gone outside, but the snow and cold kept that from being an option too. "We'll think of something," England finally said, "If nothing else, we're nearing the end of winter. The snow should start melting in a month."
"Yeah, but that's so long."
England set down his little blanket and tried not to smile. America didn't know how lucky he was. At least he had England to talk to.
"Well, do you have any ideas?"
"Actually," America said, sitting up, "I've been thinking about-" But then he suddenly stopped.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Um, could we sleep down here tonight?"
"That's all?"
America looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, "Well, it's a start."
"Where do you mean to sleep, though? The sofa is only big enough for one of us."
"When I said here, I meant here," He said, patting the rug he had been laying on.
"On the floor?"
"Why not?"
"We're both going to be dreadfully sore tomorrow."
"So? Sore's better than bored, and you can bring down all the pillows and cushions."
England sighed and stood. "I'm going to regret this."
America smiled triumphantly, "Bring the sheets too!"
England just rolled his eyes and went off to strip the bed.
By the time he came back down, America had already taken everything soft he could from every piece of furniture on the first floor. He lay spread-eagle in the middle of a pile of cushions he'd amassed in front of the fire, clearly comfortable.
"Proud of that, are you?" England asked
"Mmm-hmm," America hummed without opening his eyes.
"Well, budge up. I have to put the sheets on."
"Oh fine," America said, standing and getting out of the way.
England busied himself tucking the corners of the sheets under the pillows on the perimeter to try to keep their sham of a bed together. He felt America's eyes on him and started to feel warm. He shook his head. America had seen him a million times in a million more compromising positions. Why was he suddenly feeling embarrassed? He looked up to meet America's eyes. The look he was giving England was almost predatory and that combined with the way America was currently towering over him made him slightly uneasy. He wasn't used to being beneath America. He left the rest of the blankets to the side and just stared.
America got down on his hands and knees so that he was on England's level. England suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. "You look so cute crawling around like that," He said, nuzzling him.
"I'm not cute." England huffed.
"Of course you are." He kissed him, "But I don't have to say it if you don't want me to."
"You're beautiful like this, you know," America said, brushing a strand of England's hair behind his ear, "Rolling around on the floor in front of a low fire."
"I am not rolling!"
"Well, we can fix that." In spite of the size of his pregnancy, America pounced on England and forced him down onto the cushions.
"Why you-!" England grabbed his shoulders and pushed him off.
With a laugh, America sprung again, shoving him over once more. England retaliated again. He wanted to be angry with America. This was no way to be acting, especially in his current state. What if England accidentally kicked him in the stomach? What if the exertion forced him into incredibly premature labor? But as the game wore on and America showed no sign of any pain that smile and laugh began to win England over. He was quite thoroughly enjoying himself by the time he managed to pin America properly.
"I still can't beat you, can I?" America asked breathlessly.
"You still have a lot to learn, boy." England said triumphantly.
"Well, since you won you get the prize."
"Prize?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," America closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss him.
"That's all I get?" England asked when they pulled apart, "One little kiss?"
"Nah. You also get to stay up there as long as you want." He lifted one knee to nudge England's groin, "If you know what I mean."
England flushed bright red but tried to cover it with a smirk. "I would love that, darling."
America rolled his shoulders, "Come get me, then."
England quickly began to work on undoing America's waistcoat. "I'm going to have to take this out again," He muttered as he worked the strained buttons over America's belly.
"Yeah, our little girl's getting nice and big, isn't she?"
"Still sure it'll be a girl?" England asked, kissing America's stomach.
"Hey, I'm the one whose insides are getting pulverized on a daily basis."
England chuckled, "Of course, dear."
After that he began to slow, reverently undoing every button on America's shirt and trousers. He was so lovely now, big and heavy with child and still so needy in spite of it. Oh, and he wasn't even close to done growing yet. There were still three months to go. Christ, it almost made England hard on the spot thinking of how big he would get. He focused instead on the current America and the way he was mewling and writhing on the ground, completely bare before him.
"Careful not to undo this lovely bed you've made."
"Quit teasing me." America said, frowning and whacking him lightly on the shoulder. He shivered, reminding England that he had yet to remove a stitch of his own clothing.
England stood and began to tear at whatever he could reach.
"Hey, come on! Give me a show, baby."
"A- a what?" England asked, willing to let the pet name slide for the moment.
"Like I said, show me what you've got!"
"W-where did you get this ridiculous idea? You haven't been talking to France behind my back again, have you?"
America shook his head and smiled, "Nah, I came up on this one all by myself. I wanna see you take off your clothes for me. Nice and slow."
Slightly confused, England began to carefully undo his buttons one by one. America lay back with a satisfied smile on his face. Well, as long as he was enjoying this… England continued like that, in spite of how cold he was getting. Well, America always used to tease his nipples until they were hard, maybe this would turn him on more.
The thought drew England's eyes to America's chest. His nipples had gotten so big and dark recently, almost brown in color and the flesh beneath them had grown stiff. He wondered if America was making milk yet. He wondered if when he closed his mouth around one of those beautiful brown spots and sucked he'd be rewarded with a little something more than America's groans.
The snow melting was the best thing that had happened in months. The first day America saw grass, he ran out to the stables before breakfast. England had made him promise to be careful, since it was difficult to ride a horse when one was roughly the size of a cow. (He had really said that it could be dangerous if America fell, but why else would he fall? It had never happened to him before.) Of course, he broke that promise as quickly as possible. The moment he was sure that he was hidden by the trees, he gave Carrot a sharp jab to her flanks and they rode off at breakneck speed.
America threw his head back and breathed in the fresh air. It tasted so sweet after the way he'd been cooped up for the whole winter. The wind ran through his hair with even more affection than England's fingers. He felt the steady beat of his land coursing through him, as steady and personal as his breathing and heartbeat.
It was almost odd how spiritual the experience was. America closed his eyes and let go of Carrot's reins. Instead, he placed his hands on her neck. Even though she wasn't human, she was still part of him. Americans were Americans, and they were all his babies. What did number of legs matter? He steered her through their connection, gently pushing her simple mind to take them one way or another. It was rare that he used his abilities so fully, but it was a day for it. He was free and wild and hadn't felt so much like himself in years.
He allowed the feeling to expand further. No longer was it just Carrot's head, but down her spine, through her nerves, into her hooves, and then into the ground she steadily beat against. Suddenly, he was everywhere at once. Suddenly, he knew everything that was happening from Georgia to the farthest reaches of Massachusetts where the northern bits rubbed against Canada's land. In fact, he could feel his brother's softer presence like he was snuggling against him. Spain was to his south, bright and warm and energetic. But more important than all of that was the information that he suddenly could see, things he had known all along but hadn't bothered to look for. In New York a man named Peter Miller was bargaining for eggs because he was saving to buy his wife an anniversary present. In Charleston, Sally Hopkins was thinking about giving her virginity to Charlie White, who himself had already planned his proposal to her but at the moment was still asleep and dreaming about the dog he'd had as a boy. Somewhere in an unnamed part of the west a mouse that was about to starve to death found a farmer's grain storage. The baby he was carrying loved him.
That thought shocked him more than what he'd seen throughout his land. He slowed Carrot to a halt and pulled his awareness closer to block out everything else. He'd never been inside of an unborn baby's mind so closely before. It wasn't completely simple like an animal's, but it wasn't complex like an adult's or even a child's. It felt sort of hazy, like it was trying to be sentient but wasn't quite there yet. There were no words in her mind or even pictures, just sensations and flashes of light and dark, but in spite of that there were things that she just somehow knew.
Her World was small and she understood that. She knew that her World was inside of another person and there was a bigger place outside of that. She didn't know who America was, but she knew he was the only thing that mattered. He gave her food through the cord coming from her belly, he gave her air even though she couldn't breathe, whenever he was happy she would be too, and he and the Other One (England, presumably) were the only ones that paid attention to her. She listened to their voices, felt them pressing gently against her world's edge. She didn't know what seeing quite was, but she wanted to actually see them, not just blurry silhouettes.
America wrapped his arms around his belly and hugged it as tightly as he could. He reached out and touched her consciousness as he had with Carrot's. However, this time instead of sending orders he sort of nuzzled her with it. He gave her warmth and let her know mommy and daddy loved her too.
She was scared and confused at first, kicking wildly in the hopes that somehow it would make things go back to normal. She recognized his presence, but she didn't know how.
America soothed her gently, both with his mind and with his hands. "Hush, Aidie," He said softly, "It's just me. Don't be scared."
She settled after a few moments, finally understanding that the person who had her World was showing her love in a new way. She embraced him after that, trying to show him things that America already knew.
Maybe he should do this sort of thing more often, he realized. After all, his daughter had a very interesting point of view. He dismounted and sat down on a fallen log, lazily rubbing his stomach. Adrianna wasn't exactly giving him intelligent conversation, but the ability to talk to his child like that was good enough.
He looked out and realized with a start Carrot had taken him out to the cliff. The last time he'd been there was back in September. God, he was so scared, so damn angry at the world back then. It was much less pretty now, with all the trees looking dead and not a single sign of life except for a few forlorn-looking crows flying a few miles off, but he was so much happier. It didn't matter that his land was still drowsy with winter that had not quite thawed, he felt more alive than he had in months. He started laughing and pulled back into himself.
"I win, symbolism." He said, standing back up.
"Win what?"
America almost jumped out of his shoes. He had been so focused on himself and his baby that he hadn't noticed Lucy coming up behind him, walking her father's horse. He grinned when he saw her and ran over to give her a big hug.
"What are you doing here?" He asked when he pulled away.
"I wanted to see you, and since I woke up and the snow was gone I thought there'd be a good chance you'd be here."
"I'm glad you were right," America said with a laugh, "How have you been?"
"Good," She said. Her smile fell, "My father is pushing for me to get married again, though. My mother and sisters can handle the housework on their own and I think he doesn't like the extra expense of having me around."
America scowled, "I hate that. You're not some cow that needs to be sold off. You're a great girl, Lucy."
She smiled weakly, "Thanks. It doesn't change anything, though. I think he's going to arrange something soon, though. He's been talking to the Jeffersons. One of their sons is of marrying age now and-" She took a deep breath, "It's a good path, but it's not mine, Alfred."
America thought for a moment. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a happy ending, there just had to be. Suddenly, he got an idea.
"Why don't you come work for us?"
"What?"
"It'll be great." He took her hands in his, "You can work as my and England's maid! Then your dad can't complain about you being useless, even though you weren't to begin with."
"Are you sure that's alright?"
"Yeah! If nothing else, a lot of people think we're a couple. If your dad thinks I'm courting you he'll get off of your back!"
She smiled, "That's great!"
"Now all we have to do is get England to approve it. Come on, let's go talk to him."
America tried to get enough sleep. Really, he did. He'd go to bed early and not rush himself awake in the morning, but he just wasn't doing it. It felt like he couldn't get comfortable. The baby didn't help. Most of the time she'd try to be still, but she would always wiggle around just a little bit like she was as unusually uncomfortable as he was.
Even when England came to bed it made no difference because he just basically perched on the far side of the mattress. Sometimes America felt like it was just like their stupid geography, with miles and miles keeping them apart. Of course, it was no better when they were awake. They barely talked anymore. England had started to close himself in his study more often. He claimed that the king wanted him to do more work, but America was sure he was just avoiding him.
One night he decided he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He lay still for a good while, staring out the window with one hand curled protectively around his belly. Aidie was trying to kick her way out but he paid her no mind. He didn't move when England first came in, or when he took off his clothes and set them neatly on the chair. He waited until England finally slid between the sheets and took his now-default position at the farthest reaches of the bed. Even then America didn't turn or gesture or anything. He just opened his mouth.
"Hey England?"
He heard England stiffen beside him, as though he hadn't known America was awake. However, he quickly settled himself. The sheets rustled and the mattress moved as England turned to look at him. "What is it?"
America still didn't turn to look at him. It was dark anyway. Besides, he didn't know if he could take it. "Are we- are we gonna be okay?"
"I don't suppose you mean both of us individually, do you?"
"No."
England sighed, "I don't know, America, I really don't know."
America clenched his jaw.
"I want us to be, though." England set a hand on America's shoulder and he both wanted to shake it off and hold it closer, "I want this to work."
"I do too."
There were a million things America should have said. "I'm sorry I didn't really let you get to know Lucy before I got her to work here." "I wish that you could just treat me like an adult." "Please trust me more often." "For God's sake, talk to me again!" But instead he just said, "I love you, England, I really do."
"I love you too." England finally came closer and pressed his warm, solid body against America's back, "I know this won't be easy. Neither of us are used to sharing. But maybe this'll be good for us. All of this."
America took England's hand in his, "How could this past month have possibly been good?"
"We had to fight eventually. We're both so bloody stubborn that it's bound to have happened some day. But since it happened now, before the baby came, I had time to think until I realized that. And since I promised to stay until the child is grown, I wouldn't piss off back home and then be too proud to turn around and come right back."
"But what about after Aidie grows up?" America curled around himself as best he could, "I can't keep pushing out babies forever."
"I wouldn't expect you to," England replied softly, "I hope we'll have learned how to be together by then. I'll have to go home, but maybe the next time one of us has to carry we can do this again. After all, every year it seems they're coming up with ways to cross the Atlantic faster and faster. During that time I'll write."
"I am too. But, God, America," England wrapped his arms around America's chest and held him close, "You have no idea. Before I found you I was scared and alone and constantly being harassed. That last bit still happens, but you gave me hope and happiness and something to fight for other than myself. And now we're going to have a family, a proper one, not like mine where my mother disappeared and then my siblings turned on me and tried to kill me. And I think that with you I can do that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I- I don't want to lose you."
He buried his face in America's shift. America wanted to say something, but couldn't. He couldn't even think of something to say. It was like there was a block in his brain or his throat or both. He heard England's breath catch several times. God, he was crying, wasn't he?
Now it was time to move, America rolled over and hugged him back, "I'm here," He said, "And I will always be here."
England pulled away and smiled sadly, "Don't be daft, love, all things end eventually."
America leaned forward and kissed away England's tears, "Well, I'm gonna live forever or die trying." That actually got a laugh out of him, "England, I haven't been alive very long by your standards, but even I know that things do change, and they usually change in ways no one sees coming. So there's no point in worrying. Just enjoy the here and now. I'm here. Our baby's here. The bed is warm and comfortable. We're gonna be okay."
"I thought you were the one who was unsure of that."
"I was," He laughed, "But now I'm not."
Just like he thought the bed was uncomfortable but now it wasn't, not with England so close to him. So that's all he was really missing.
"Goodnight, America."
"Goodnight, England.
And curled around him like that, America had his best night's sleep in months.
England stared at the door in front of him. He swallowed and looked down at the paper clutched in his hand, making sure for the millionth time that he had the right apartment. At that point he was just stalling for time. America grown so much and England had fallen so hard, being around his presence was like looking into the sun and it was blaring just inside.
He had more right to be here than the other two times he'd come. He and America were friends now, at least. "A special relationship" His boss had said. But for some reason he was never so nervous: not when he had stumbled over drunk and heartbroken in 1788, and not a century later when he'd come with the pretext of trade. He was fully entitled to come for a visit, and it wasn't unusual for that to include a shag. But he just felt so weak now, like America could break him in half with a finger. Finally rationing had ended, but he still felt like a shell of his formal self. Why had it come now?
He screwed up his courage. Even if he was half dead, he'd had the world at his command not too long ago and above all else he was a British gentleman and had to stand firm. He knocked three times on the door. It sounded a lot more sure than his shaking hands should have allowed. (He told himself that the trembling was from that hunger that hadn't stopped gnawing at his bones since the war. That was why it had gone on since the Blitz.)
"Hey!" America said opening the door, "I was wondering when you'd finally knock."
England ignored the barb and turned slightly away as though being there was an annoying chore, "Hullo. My boss asked me to come visit, improve relations and all that."
"Sure he did. I think he'd tell you to move in if the queen would let him."
America let out a laugh, but something seemed wrong. He was still standing in the doorway, like there was something he didn't want England to see. Well, that was all the more reason to talk himself inside.
"Mind if I come in? It's raining out so it'd be nice to warm up a bit."
"Sure," America said, finally stepping back, "That's fine."
His tone was slightly forced, making it clear that it wasn't fine, but England deserved a turn pretending to be oblivious. He smiled and entered. There was nothing unusual in his apartment that England noticed. There were pictures of America with various people on the walls. His furniture was simple and cheaply made, but he had a television and a few comfortable-looking chairs around it.
"I don't have any tea or nothin, but I can make you some coffee," America said stiffly.
"That would be nice." England said. Any excuse to stay was a good one. He didn't know how long it would take him to talk his way into America's bed, but he wanted to do it before America got suspicious.
He sat at the table and allowed America to bustle around the kitchenette. He looked around the house, trying to remember the layout so that he was less likely to bump into something while he was kissing America towards the bed. Or couch. It didn't really matter where as long as it happened soon.
"Do you want some milk?" America asked, leaning from around the open refrigerator door. "I don't have any cream."
"And some sugar too, please." England replied, turning to look at him.
It was at that point that England saw that he had some crude crayon drawings taped to the door. Wow, so all of those rumors about his art were true. England was about to make a snide comment about that when he noticed a lot of them were of him and the same little girl. Now that was odd. He knew America loved children, but why would he keep the same subject? He actually opened his mouth to ask when he got his answer.
"Daddy?" A little voice called from the hallway, "I thought you were gonna come read me a bedtime story."
America's eyes widened and he turned around. England peeked around him to look at the girl. She was a little blonde thing, probably only about six years old. She held a little white teddy bear and was wearing a pale blue nightdress. But the thing that struck him about her the most were her eyes, her huge brilliantly green eyes. His eyes.
He couldn't help but stare at her. He began to notice other little pieces, her nose, her chin. God, why hadn't America told him?
"You weren't going to tell America about yours. You haven't told America about yours."
"Don't worry, Lizzie, I will." America walked over and lifted her into his arms, "I was about to when one of my friends came to the door."
The girl, Lizzie- He had named her Elizabeth! – Looked at England over America's shoulder, "Who is he? I don't think I've seen him before."
England's heart lurched. She hadn't. He hadn't been there. He'd fathered plenty of children without looking back. He was a fucking nation! That's what they did. Portugal never knew about Audrey. France never knew about Mary. That sailor never knew about Jonathan. Hell, America never knew about Martha and Allan. So why- why did he feel so bad about this Lizzie?
"We're old friends. His name is Arthur."
She waved, "Hi Arthur!"
"Hello," he said, more out of habit than anything since his brain had short-circuited.
"Yep, but now you have to go to sleep."
"But he just got here!"
"I know, Liz," He kissed her forehead, "But it's past your bedtime. Besides, it's been years since I've seen Artie, so we have a lot to catch up on."
He walked away with his daughter in his arms. England, for his part, just stared down at his coffee. He couldn't think, he just stared, watching the steam rise into the air.
America returned about ten minutes later and sat down on the other side of the table. His face was more serious than England had seen it since he found out about Hiroshima.
"I'm guessing from the look on your face you know now, huh?" He asked.
England nodded, "And she doesn't. She doesn't even know who you really are."
"No. She's too young. I'll explain it to her later when she's old enough not to tell anyone."
"Will you tell her about me?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He took a long drink from his own coffee, "But I don't think you're here just to chat. If it was to build relations you would have called."
England smiled, "I'm actually quite glad you're not as stupid as everyone likes to think."
America smiled back, "Well, it's easier if people think you can't tell your ass from an ice pick, so I'm glad I pull it off."
"Quite well."
"Now enough with the small talk." He set his cup down, "Liz is an early riser and I have to make her breakfast before school tomorrow."
England sighed and placed his elbows on the table. "Well, since I've seen your daughter now I'll be forward with you. It's my turn, I suppose. I'm in heat."
"And you came all the way over here?"
"Yes."
"Why? It seems like an awfully long way to go when you're surrounded by a million other guys on your own continent."
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A Year of Surprises [1a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 07:16 am (UTC)(link)June
England's first surprise came on the first day when he first saw his "little" colony again. He had been expecting to find the little boy that he'd left, once scarcely higher than his chin. America was still clearly a boy, but nothing like little anymore. He was even taller than England now, and although he was still gangly it was plain to see that he was already starting to fill out. It wouldn't be long until his chest and arms matched those broad shoulders. His voice didn't even crack. England wondered how long he had until everyone took him for an adult, probably not very judging by the ages at which his people tended to marry.
Once he got over his initial shock, he found himself somewhat sad. America was easily his favorite colony. America was somewhat of a special project to him. There was something about him that had drawn England in, made him see potential. Maybe it was that he saw something of himself in the boy, what he could have been if he had lived a life free from his brothers' abuse. He had wanted to be there for America through his awkward adolescent years.
"Come on, England! I did so much work to the house, you've just gotta see this!"
Of course, it was hard to stay melancholy when he seemed so excited about and proud of the things he had done, the ways he had grown. England felt as though he absorbed part of that energy as he allowed America to point out everything he'd done. It was all good workmanship. It seemed he had a reason to be proud after all.
It seemed that even in his absence England had managed to raise him alright after all.
He was going to be quite attractive once he was fully grown as well. England could see it already: the hard, masculine lines of his face hidden behind the last traces of baby fat, the strength his body would have when he decided to grow out now that he was likely done with up. And then, of course, he had his soulful blue eyes, his soft golden hair, and that energetic personality.
Maybe in a decade or two, England thought, he'd be ready to take. He hoped he could be there for that too, but for less pure reasons than the transition he'd missed. It wasn't as though America was his child. America was a nation, and although they may have referred to each other as family, they didn't possess that sort of bond. America was more England's student than his son. He took care of himself as they all did, he simply had more guidance than most.
A Year of Surprises [1b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 07:17 am (UTC)(link)Family was different. It was very, very different. He pressed a hand against his stomach, thinking of all the children he'd birthed over the years. Not many compared to other nations, only five, but he had loved them and watched after them until they didn't need him anymore. Even now he had a Twenty-two-year-old son back in London, with a wife and one child three years old and another on the way. Jonathan was the reason he hadn't come back and the reason he left in the first place. He fled across the sea as soon as he knew he would go into heat. He wanted to wait until he was home and choose the most suitable "father" for his child, but couldn't stand the voyage and convinced the best man on the ship to impregnate him.
That was how it worked: there were times when nations became fertile, either because of crops or a population boom, and they became pregnant. There were no exceptions. If they resisted the desire invaded their minds, driving them mad until they were no better than whores, begging anyone who produced sperm to fuck them.
It wasn't always that bad. Most of the time he'd had sex with an ally or even just a human he'd grown fond of. Two of his children were Portugal's and one had been a kind but lonely man he lived next door to when he was in Kent for a short time.
(The other one had been France, a sort of peace treaty to end the 100 years war. He didn't love Mary any less than the others. There was nothing French about her in the slightest)
"Hey, old man," America said, turning back to him and grinning, "You alive in there?"
"America, I don't bloody care that you're taller than me now," he snapped, startled and therefore inclined to shout, "I am your superior and you will address me as such."
He shrugged, "Other stuff wasn't getting through. I was asking if you wanted to go for a ride. I know a place not far from here that's really pretty in the afternoons."
England rolled his eyes, "Well, alright. I suppose I'll allow you to drag me out into the wilderness."
"Awesome! Come on!" America grabbed his wrist and led him off to the stables.
England shook his head. He could see he had his work cut out for him if he as much as hoped to have the boy act properly again.
A Year of Surprises [2a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)A/n: Gonna be a little like the attention whore I am here: If you liked this fill, please, please, please leave a comment. I live off of your love.
July
America still wasn’t quite used to the idea of having England around again. Maybe it was because it felt different than the other times they’d lived together. There was some sort of tension, drawing America deeper but forcing him away at the same time. Maybe he’d just forgotten about it? Twenty three years wasn’t a long time for England, but that was almost a quarter of America’s whole life. It made it really, really hard to tell…
All he knew was that it was fantastic and agonizing at the same time to be with England. As they sat across from each other, eating, America was consumed by both the desire to slide next to England and lean on him and to stay where he was because he was scared to get that close. All he knew was that he couldn’t take his eyes off of him, watching his mouth as he brought a piece of meat to his lips, the almost harsh line of his jaw as he chewed, and the chords of his neck as he swallowed. Of course, there was good reason for him to be watching him. England was right across the table and they were talking. Still, he was sure he had never before noticed all those little details, like the way that his thin, long fingers carefully handled his fork and knife. He wondered why on earth he hadn’t, because he had been missing out on a great show.
“Are you alright, America?” England asked standing and coming over to his side. He placed a hand on America’s forehead, “You look flushed and you’re just staring blankly at me.”
America blushed redder more because of the touch than the embarassment. He wanted to shove England away and pull him into his lap at the same time. He looked up to meet England’s eyes. Did he want to shove him away and insist he was fine or ask what was wrong with him and why he’d started feeling so queasy?
When they made eye contact, England startled. He pulled his hand away and knelt down to be at America’s level, “America, love, as soon as we finish eating you should go up to your room. Rest. Don’t worry about this, you’ll be alright.” He lovingly brushed America’s bangs. America frowned. Usually England kissed his forehead or hair. Maybe he just didn’t wanna get sick?
After dinner he dutifully laid down in bed, but there was no way he could sleep. It was still light out! He looked out the window instead, watching the grass and tree branches beyond move in the wind, and traced random patters on his pillow. All he could think of was England, remembering them sitting and playing out in that field and hunting and riding in the forest.
He rolled onto his back. He wanted to go out and play with England. Since he’d come he’d always put up a fight about that, saying that America was too old for that nonsense, and he was far too distinguished to comply in the first place. America smiled; he could always get him to go with it anyway. A few days ago he’d even talked him into wrestling.
It had been a lot of fun. It felt so good to go against someone who he actually had to work to keep up with for once! True, he was stronger and had a longer reach now, but England was fast and flexible. America would grab him one second and he’d be free again the next. And he was really distracting too. Whenever America touched him he felt a shock course through his entire body.
A Year of Surprises [2b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 07:45 pm (UTC)(link)So there was a really good reason that he lost! That must have been why he didn’t mind that England had managed to shove him to the ground and pin him, or even that he gloated a little by grinning wolfishly down at him and saying “My, my, America, you’ve gotten much stronger than last time but you’re still no match for me!”
But now why when he thought back to that day was he putting more emphasis on the way the sun shone through his even messier than usual hair, the flush of his cheeks, the almost wild look in his eyes, and why did that make his stomach tighten and roll?
It was then that his subconscious truly betrayed him. He imagined England closing those green eyes and leaning down to kiss him, not on the temple as he actually had, but on the lips. Their mouths opened and their tongues pressed together hot and wet and-
What. The fuck.
America rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under the pillow. What the hell was he thinking?! This was England he was talking about, his teacher, his friend. He was practically his father!
“Practically,” He thought, “But not actually.”
“Shut up!” He told himself, pressing the sides of the pillow down against his ears as though that would block out the voice in his head.
It was too late, far too late. He’d opened himself up to the torrent of images, touching England, being touched by England, fucking him, being fucked by him… Why?
He knew what sex was. His teachers had taught him the basics, how animals and humans procreated. Then Canada had passed on what he’d learned from France about men having sex with other men, and even more importantly how nations would have sex with nations they were close to when they were grown, no matter how they had felt about each other as children.
He sat up and pulled his knees close. No, that couldn’t be true. After all, France had said that someday he and Canada would be attracted to each other, and that was just gross!
It… It was still gross, right?
He tried to imagine himself kissing his brother, but it still felt wrong. Well, so did kissing England, really, but that was a good-but-bad-at-the-same-time wrong and kissing Canada was just-plain-gross wrong.
He rested his cheek on one of his knees. He still had time. If France was telling the truth nations didn’t touch children. It seemed pretty likely because he hadn’t tried to do anything to either him or Canada and England said he’d molest anything with a pulse. America sighed and lay back down. It was okay for now. He still had years to think it over, to decide how he felt about England.
For the time being, he was safe.
Re: A Year of Surprises [2b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-29 09:40 pm (UTC)(link)Re: A Year of Surprises [2b/12]
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(Anonymous) 2012-02-05 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)A/N: I would just like to make it clear before going into this that in spite of England referring to him as a boy all the time, America is physically about 16 years old. While on that topic, warning for Ephebophilia in this chapter.
August
England didn't suspect that there was anything wrong with America for a long time. It had been clear for almost a month that he was attracted to England, but that was normal enough. After all, England could remember his own adolescence perfectly clearly, all the confused nights when he lay back with his tunic lifted, thinking about a hundred different people and unsure of how he felt about any of them. It was part of growing up and America would get past it. Hopefully not past England, but past the confusion.
No, the real person England worried about was himself. It was one thing to look at America and notice how attractive he'd grow to be. It was another thing entirely to actually want him as he was. It was wrong, disgusting even. England didn't know why he felt that way. He'd never had a problem with this sort of thing before. He hadn't been attracted to boys since he was one himself, since over three hundred years ago when he and Portugal had…
Well, that wasn't the issue. The issue was that he was attracted to a child!
He wasn't exactly a child, though, his treacherous thoughts reminded him. True, he was only about one hundred, but England guessed from his appearance that people his physical age married on a regular basis. Hell, from one point of view he had been younger when he first-
"Um… Hey England…"
Bloody hell, where had he come from? He forced himself to smile up at America. He looked worried, hands behind his back and looking down at his shoes. England set aside his embroidery to show that America had his attention.
"Yes, dear boy?"
"I- can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Of course, lad," He patted the cushion next to him.
"Thanks," America said, taking a seat.
"Now, what seems to be bothering you?"
"England… I'm scared."
England sighed, "America, I've told you a million times, there are no such things as ghosts."
"It's not about that!" He said a little too harshly, "This is serious!"
"Sorry, lad," England said, smiling, "I'll hear you out."
"I know I shouldn't have yelled," He shifted uncomfortably, "I just… I'm worried."
England furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but it certainly sounded serious…
"I've been feeling… weird lately and I don't know what to do about it. I know it's not just puberty or anything, because I haven't changed in the past seven years."
It was most likely something normal that he simply hadn't encountered yet, but it didn't hurt to make sure "So, what do you mean by 'weird' exactly?"
"Well, it's… Um…" He turned bright red, "This is really, really awkward, but… um."
"It's alright, love," England reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, "Whatever it is you can tell me."
America turned even redder, "I want sex. Like really, really want it. And it's just been getting worse and worse. I can barely think of anything else anymore," His voice cracked and he began speaking more quickly, "I can't concentrate, can barely do chores. Even my dreams are all me getting fucked or something that I know means the same thing. And they're so vivid, England, I would have pretty intense dreams before, but nothing like this. And the worst is when I don't dream of sex because then..." He looked away, "Then I dream about being pregnant, or giving birth, or holding a baby. And the feelings just gets worse and worse when I'm around you, so doing this is awful. I want it to stop, England," He looked back at England, tears were rolling down his face, "I don't feel like me. I want to go back to the way I was before. Please England, you told me you'd always help me, so please fix this."
A Year of Surprises [3b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-05 05:05 pm (UTC)(link)England looked at him. It sounded as though he was… No, that wasn't possible. It was too early. America was only one hundred. Oh, but he had aged so quickly, and it did explain why they were both feeling like that… There was only one way to be sure.
"America," England said, making his voice as serious as possible, "I need to go into your bedroom."
"What? Why?"
"Just trust me. I think I know what's happening," He pulled him into a hug, "And if I'm right, I'm so, so sorry."
"England? England, what's wrong with me?" He looked absolutely terrified.
"It'll be alright, I promise it'll be alright."
"England, I'm scared."
"I know, I know," He pulled him closer, "But I want to be sure before I say anything."
"England, am I going to die?"
"No, America. You'll be alright. I promise that everything will be alright, but you have to trust me."
"Okay," America said meekly.
He followed England upstairs to his room, standing aside and letting England investigate. Normally he'd have to go and smell the bed or his pajamas or something like that. He was almost knocked out the moment he opened the door. It probably didn't help that it was one of those hot, sticky summer days, but the air was positively saturated with the smell of a nation in heat.
"My God, how long has this been going on?"
He had asked himself more than America, but the boy still looked ashamed, staring down at the floor.
England forced a smile and said, "Don't worry. This is completely natural and you're going to be perfectly fine."
"England," America said, much more sternly than he had before, "What's wrong with me?"
England stroked his hair, one last bit of comfort before he said, "Nothing's wrong with you, America. It's just-" He took a deep breath, "It's time for you to have your first child."
"What?" America looked down at himself as though he expected his stomach to have ballooned without his notice, "England, I've never even had sex."
"No, America, you're not pregnant now."
"But then what do you mean? I have the choice not to have a kid, don't I?"
England swallowed, "No, America," He said, "You really don't."
"All I have to do is not have sex for-"
"America, I know it's hard to understand but that's not an option." England took his hands.
"Of course it is!" America shouted, shaking him away, "Why wouldn't it be?"
England sighed and closed his eyes, "You've never been through this before, America, so you don't know what it's like after a few months. I've tried, America, I've tried so hard... Not even you can overcome biology like that."
"But I- England, I'm not ready for a kid!"
England wrapped his arms America, who proceeded to bury his face in England's chest and be unusually still.
Christ, this was so different from when he'd learned he was going to be pregnant. That was the difference between a 100-year-old and a 900-year-old, most likely. England had had so much more time to live, to grow a mental and emotional longing so that when the physical ones came everything fell into place.
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(Anonymous) 2012-03-03 03:24 am (UTC)(link)September
A/n: Hi guys! I'm not dead, but I am pretty sick. I'm sorry if this sucks, but I wanted to give you all something.
It was during the fourth day that week that America found himself heaving his guts out into the spare chamber pot as soon as he awoke that he decided there was no point in denying it anymore. Feeling numb, he stood and placed his hand on his stomach, wondering dully how long he had until he'd barely be able to recognize it.
"Is something wrong, love?" England asked, propping himself up with an elbow. "Other than the obvious, I mean."
"I'm pregnant, aren't I? Like really, actually, pregnant."
England sighed. "You have been, America. I told you, there's no point in fretting about it. After all, you and that child are going to be better taken care of than any other nation and child in history."
"But I-"
"No buts!" He sat up, "You trust me, don't you."
"Of course I do." He looked down, "You know that."
"Then trust me when I say- America look at me!" America looked up to meet England's eyes, already so bright before the sun had as much as peeked over the horizon. He placed his hands over his stomach reflexively, his mind focused on how he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, "Trust me when I say that everything will be alright."
"O-okay," America said, holding his eye contact long enough not to get scolded.
"Now," England smiled again, letting America feel less exposed, "I know it's a bit late, but are you coming back to bed?"
"No," America took his newfound freedom to turn away and stretch, "I'm plenty awake now. Besides, it's gonna start getting cold soon, so I wanna be outside as much as possible."
England shrugged and laid back down, "Suit yourself."
America dressed himself quickly in his work clothes, wanting to get away from the room and the disgusting smell of his own vomit as quickly as possible. He paused only to take a drink from the pitcher of water on the bedside table to try to remove the foul taste from his mouth before leaving the house.
There was already a chill in the air. It pressed against his skin in an unwanted embrace. He pulled his cloak closer to shake it off. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was stuck indoors with a blanket wrapped around him all day every day. What great timing God had to give him two sources of misery at once! He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He went into the stable and walked over to his horse. She was a beautiful palomino, and although she had once been highly athletic and energetic she'd slowed and fattened up a bit with age.
"Hey, Carrot," He said, gently petting her muzzle, "How've you been? Sorry I haven't been out here much, baby. I've had other things on my mind."
She leaned down to nuzzle his stomach, and for a moment America was struck by the ridiculous idea that somehow she knew. "No, that's stupid." He thought, "She's saying 'hi.' That's how she always says 'hi.'" Still, though, he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Instead he took a step back and went to feeding her and England's horse.
He watched them as they ate, feeling as though he was standing two feet further back than he actually was. Once they had finished he went to gather his gear.
"You ready to go for a ride, girl?" He asked, placing the old, faded blanket across her back. "It's not gonna be too far, just out to the cliff. Just you and me. It'll be fun."
She gently prodded his arm with her muzzle, which he took to be a yes. He finished getting her ready and led her out of the stable before climbing into the saddle. America gave her strong neck one last pat before urging her forward into the woods.
A Year of Surprises [4b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-03 03:24 am (UTC)(link)It was an easy ride down a well-worn, well-loved path. Either of them could probably find their way on a pitch-dark night, and as it was with the beginning of morning light beginning to peek through the trees America had plenty of time to look around and notice the animals beginning to stir. Some of the last robins were singing and fresh fallen leaves crunched beneath Carrot's hooves. She began to pull him lightly, asking to go faster.
"You wanna run?" He asked, smiling, "Maybe you're less burnt out than we give you credit for." She whinnied and shook her head, "Alright, then, let's do this!"
He shook the reins, gave her a light kick, and leaned down against her neck. She took off like she was a filly again. America laughed and shook his head, allowing himself to forget his problems in lieu of enjoying the wind in his hair and the feeling of having Carrot gallop beneath him. It had been a while since they ran like that together, but they remembered. He knew Carrot and Carrot knew him. When they moved they moved as one, hurtling through the trees in a direction they were both absolutely certain of.
She slowed back to a trot as they began to climb the hill. America felt much lighter and slightly breathless. They reached the crown of the hill at just the right time. The sky was flecked with reds and purples although the sun wasn't quite above the treetops. America turned his head to get the full view and took a deep breath. There was no better lookout for miles, nowhere that anyone but an eagle could see so clear for so far. He slid from Carrot's saddle and sat on the edge of the cliff. What was normally an endless sea of green appeared almost completely orange and yellow. It was hard to say if it was simply the light or if fall was really coming that quickly. Carrot followed him, stopping a safer distance away from the edge like she always did.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" He asked, "You got us totally lost." She made a disapproving noise, "You did! And then I noticed this hill and I thought maybe I could figure out where we were. I didn't think we'd get a view like this!" He laughed. "God… That was fifteen years ago, wasn't it?" He stared out at the trees, feeling suddenly heavy and cold. He hopped to his feet and brushed off his behind.
"But it's been fun, right? At least most of the time, I mean. At least when it was just us and we didn't have to deal with the Jeffersons." He placed a hand lightly on her flank, "I'm sorry I had to use you like that, but you remember what it was like. It wasn't always this easy." He allowed his hand to slide down so that it was at his side again. He walked back out to the edge, training his eyes on the horizon in the hopes of the sun appearing to distract him.
"What was it like for you?" He asked softly. "What was it like to come back home and know that you weren't just you anymore? Were you happy? Sad? You didn't really seem to mind one way or the other." He swallowed, "I wish it was like that for me too. I'm scared, carrot. I'm really, really scared."
"How did you do it?" He asked, turning and walking back towards her, "It didn't bother you one bit until you were about to foal. But me, I-" He looked away, "Why am I even talking to you about this? You're a stupid horse! You probably didn't even know!"
She reached over and nipped his hair affectionately. America wasn't sure if she was trying to tell him she understood, or if she had just sensed that he was unhappy and was trying to cheer him up in the only way she knew how.
"It's not even like I'm worried about anything physical. England's gonna take just as good care of me as I did of you. It's just…" He took a deep breath, "I'm not ready, Carrot. I can't take care of a kid. I'm pretty much a kid myself! I'm too young. I just can't-" He turned and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her warm, earthy scent.
He couldn't help it anymore. He let himself cry, sobbing hard against her short, bristly fur. She, at least, was willing to wait for him.
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(Anonymous) 2012-03-11 01:46 am (UTC)(link)October
England had thought that the sex would stop once America accepted he was pregnant. After all, once England realized he was up the duff he tended to run away and head off to a house miles away from society to wait for the baby to come.
America was different. Even the day that he ran away with his horse he came right back and pressed himself against England in a tight embrace. He didn't blame England; he wasn't angry with him. He just seemed sort of... empty. It was rather strange from England's point of view. After all, for him usually having a child was a way not to feel so alone.
Still, he did what he could to comfort the poor lad. Thankfully, often times it was rather nice for him as well.
Like, for example, the way that America was currently making eyes at him from across the supper table. He succeeded in suppressing his grin down to a sly smirk. Such a lewd thing he'd become in such a short amount of time! Of course, England was just as bad. There had been just as many evenings when he would reach out and pet America's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss and then slowly working him up to something more.
But for the time being he had to play the game. He pretended not to notice the look on America's face, instead choosing to focus on carefully slicing a piece of meat and bringing it to his mouth. He felt America's eyes on him, even though he turned his head to look out the window. He fought the urge to look back, to see America blushing as he watched him. England could never actually understand America's fascination with watching him eat, but he didn't mind. After all, it wasn't as though he was without his fair share of kinks and this one of America's was easy to exploit.
England was just glad that the servants left them alone after providing supper. It never did anyone any good to have rumors of sodomy or incest flying about, and he'd rather not have eyewitnesses for what humans would take to be incestuous sodomy.
"England?" America asked.
"Yes, darling?" England replied, turning back to face him.
"We're not even going to make it to the sitting room tonight, are we?"
England twirled his fork in his hand as though deep in thought, "I suppose you're right. It's a shame, too. I was hoping to seduce you by reading erotic poetry aloud this time."
America visibly shivered pleasantly, "Maybe tomorrow. I need you now." He set down his knife and fork
"You're awfully eager tonight. You've scarcely touched your food."
"I'm not hungry."
"America," England said sternly, "You need to eat."
He huffed, "I don't wanna."
"America, this isn't like you." This wasn't something he wanted to play around with. He stood and walked over to America's side of the table, "Your appetite is usually insatiable as it is, and now you have a growing child to feed." America's face fell at the mention of the baby, but England kept going, "It's more important that you get your nutrients now than it ever was before."
"Can't we talk about this later?" He squirmed uncomfortably.
That was no good. He had promised to protect America and that included from his own thick-headedness. Maybe England could get him to respond well to some coaxing.
"Come now, love, it's not all that bad." England pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, letting his eyes fall half-closed, "After all, I'm sure I can make this worth your while too..."
America blushed and sputtered, "W-what are you talking about?"
England grabbed America's fork and speared a piece of potato. He turned to him, making sure to let their knees brush and held it out to him, "Go on, be a good lad and open up."
America's blush grew even more intense as he dutifully opened his mouth and leaned forward to take the morsel.
A Year of Surprises [5b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-03-11 01:47 am (UTC)(link)"Mmm, very nice." He pulled the fork away and America swallowed hard. He tried again, this time cutting a strip of meat before offering it.
America became more and more flustered as the rest of his food disappeared in a similar manner, his face a delightful combination of embarrassment and arousal. America's britches weren't the only ones that were rather tight by the time his plate was empty.
"There," England said, placing the knife and fork back down on the table, "That wasn't so horrible, was it?" He frowned and clicked his tongue, "But don't you see what you've done? What food of mine was left must have grown cold by now. That's no good!" He ran a finger down America's arm, "And bad boys have to go straight to bed after supper."
America's face lit up like the sky at dawn and he bounced out of his seat, "Whelp, gotta follow the rules. Let's go get my punishment started." He winked at England, making him chuckle.
England allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom. The servants had started a fire in the fireplace a while ago and it was burning happily away, giving the room a rather pleasant warmth. England took a moment to be grateful for that. After all, the evenings were starting to get rather cold and they were about to be naked. America didn't give him much time to think on that, though, because as soon as the door shut he found himself being pressed against it and kissed hard.
"My, my, America," England said as soon as they pulled apart, "you're being rather assertive tonight."
"You made me sit through all that shit at the table," he huffed, "I'm not gonna wait anymore."
"Fair Enough," England said, running a hand through America's hair, "Then you're in charge. What do you plan on doing to me?"
America grinned and picked him up. England let out a squawk, but America didn't pay him any mind as he carried him over to the bed and set him down gently.
"Well, first off. I'm gonna get you out of these clothes."
He crawled over England and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat from the top with his teeth as his hands began working on the bottom. England just lay back and watched in awe as the very same America who was usually so docile in the bedroom tore at his clothing with the ferocity of a wounded bear. He swallowed and felt himself blushing. If this was how America acted when felt he had been denied sex for too long, England would have to start denying him on a regular basis.
His shirt quickly received the same treatment as his waistcoat. He sat for a moment in order to shuck them along with his overcoat and throw them to the ground. America didn't even give him time to lie back before he was furiously undoing his breeches. England lifted his hips and allowed America to slide them off along with his hose. However, when America reached for his shift, England took his wrists to stop him.
"That's not fair, love," He said softly, "I refuse to be bare while you're still fully dressed."
He flipped them and straddled America's thighs. He slowly undid America's waistcoat, taking the time to make him squirm and grow even more aroused. By the time his shirt was undone America was writhing on the bed and mewling in a way that was high-pitched and desperate. It was time to indulge him, to finally give him the payoff he deserved.
"This is what you want, isn't it?" He placed his hand over America's groin and gave it a small squeeze. America positively keened at the contact. "Well don't worry, I'm not any better off than you." He said, gesturing to his own prominent erection, his shift doing absolutely nothing to hide it.
"I know England, but please. Please, I need you."
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(Anonymous) 2012-04-07 01:15 am (UTC)(link)A/n: Sorry this took so long! I had very little time to sit down and write and in what time I did have this didn't wanna come out :/ I think it's because of the time period. They both seem so OOC when I'm writing them in this time period, just because the normal tsundere aspect has just started developing at best.
November
England fired the servants. It wasn't like they were doing a bad job or anything, but really their main purpose had been to keep America company and England did that well enough on his own. Besides, America was happy for the work. He had missed getting his hands dirty and actually doing things. Sitting around all day was so boring.
(They'd also both realized it was better to get rid of them now when America was still thin rather than have too many people see him once he started showing. Even though they would probably never suspect a man to be pregnant, they might begin to have thoughts of witchcraft if he got bigger and bigger and bigger until one day he was skinny again and had a baby with him. America had had more than enough problems with those sort of accusations. He didn't wanna play that game again.)
The other nice thing was getting to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He'd been so tired lately, like he'd been doing heavy labor when all he'd actually done was go around the house and dust, so it was nice to be able to go upstairs and nap whenever he felt the urge.
Some days, though, he simply wasn't tired. It seemed his body sometimes understood that he was still mostly wandering around the house doing nothing. Hell, the most physically intense thing he did these days was sleep with England (and oh, how nice it was to do that wherever he wanted! The servants had scarcely been gone for two weeks by the time they'd done it in every room of the house). He missed working the land, though. He would have liked to get out and plow soil or something but it was the wrong time of year. The first snow had fallen and even if he did get through it the dirt would probably be rock-solid beneath. But, of course, that meant at the moment he was bored and had nothing to do. Maybe he'd go find England.
He began to poke around the first floor. He obviously wasn't in the sitting room, since that was where America had been, but the kitchen, dining room, and front salon had all gotten similar results. He went upstairs and found him, to his surprise, curled up in bed.
America took a moment to engrain the image in his memory. The curtains were open and so the mid-afternoon light fell across England's face, making him seem to glow. His body was relaxed in a way it could never quite reach when he was conscious. He was curled around a pillow and with a jolt America recognized it as his own.
Suddenly everything felt a little less happy and cute. He noticed the way that England had his nose buried in the pillow, most likely trying desperately to take in what of America's scent stuck to it.
He walked over to the bed and pulled his pillow away. For a moment England frowned and reached out for what he had lost, but he was pacified when America slipped beneath the covers next to him. He smiled even wider than he had before as he pulled America flush against his chest.
A Year of Surprises [6b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-04-07 01:15 am (UTC)(link)How long had it been since either of them had slept alone? Had they been separate since the first time? Hell, that was only three months ago, wasn't it? Three months and America couldn't even imagine lying back in his own room all alone.
Well, he told himself as he closed his eyes and snuggled against England, there was no point in worrying about it now. He still had twenty years until-
Oh hell, twenty years. They weren't humans where that was almost half a lifetime. America might have to go on forever with nothing but an empty bed and memories. He felt tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't want England to leave, he didn't want to be alone again. If only there was some way to keep him longer, like if somehow when the first baby was fully grown he could force himself into heat and have another. He swallowed. He wouldn't even be able to do it once, much less for centuries on end. But damn, wouldn't it be nice? As soon as one kid could live on its own he'd just pop out another and keep England forever.
But that wasn't fair, was it? He pulled away to look at England's sleeping face. This wasn't his home. He didn't belong here, not really. Maybe to visit, but America knew from experience how hard it was to leave your land for an extended period of time. He had been so homesick when England had taken him to meet the king, how could England stay on the wrong side of the Atlantic for so long? It was selfish to keep him, but nations were meant to be selfish. England had told him time and time again that a nation must first do what most benefits their people and themselves and only once they're taken care of should they worry about others. So it should have been perfectly fine to keep England around for as long as possible, right?
Except… it wasn't like England was the only one who would be taken advantage of. America pressed his hand against his stomach, allowing himself to feel for the first time. If he pushed gently he could feel his womb, already round and firm even if there wasn't any difference in his appearance. All this time he'd been thinking of the baby as nothing but a burden, a mere thing that was going to hold him back and force him to do a whole bunch of things he didn't want to do. Until now he hadn't thought of it as a person. Was it even fair to call it a person when it was so little? Even if it wasn't one now, it would end up as one, wouldn't it?
God, he'd been thinking of just using it as an anchor for England and swapping it out for another when it had outlived its usefulness. By the time it was twenty it would have its own dreams and aspirations and maybe even a family of its own. The thought was mind-boggling to America. He was carrying a person, a real person- and he'd wanted to kill it!
He began sobbing openly into England's shift. All the things he might have lost to his own damn selfishness! He pictured his little baby, all soft and pudgy with big blue eyes and stubby fingers and toes and-
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(Anonymous) 2012-04-30 02:41 am (UTC)(link)December
They lay together out in the tall grass of the meadow, both of them flat on their backs. England looked up at the deep blue sky, its color only occasionally interrupted when a wispy cloud floated by far, far above their heads. He hummed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the sun lapping at him like waves on the beach of a lake. The wind blew softly, just enough to cool the summer air and make the grass tickle his bare arms and neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of summer, and turned to look at his partner.
America was beside him, right were he belonged. He was spread-eagled and taking up as much room as possible, as he was wont to do with his shirt unbuttoned so as to absorb as much of the sun as possible. England propped himself up on his elbow so as to make his appreciation of America easier. The boy deserved the stares. He was so beautiful like this, hair yellower than ripe wheat, that skin yet untouched by battle that went on as far as his vast land stretched over his toned stomach and chest. Oh, England hoped that for a thousand years poets would cross America's land and write of what they saw in their best words so that the people back in Europe could have the slightest inkling of the beauty that lay next to him now.
It was then that America opened his eyes and looked back at him. Damn, there was no comparing even the sky to those deep blue eyes. No sapphires in any king's crown, no ocean no matter the day could match the depth and color that was staring straight back and him and making America's gorgeous smile all the brighter.
"America," England said, "I lo-"
"Hey, wake up." America said, frowning.
And England did. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed, looking at an America not beside him looking pleased, but bent over him looking slightly annoyed. At least he still wasn't fully clothed, as he held his breeches in his hand.
England huffed and sat up, "Why did you wake me? I was having the loveliest dream."
America grinned just to annoy England, "You sleep too much anyway. It can't be good for you."
"You're the one who goes to bed nearly at sunset, even though it's at, what, four in the afternoon now?"
He blushed, "Hey, I'm pregnant. Cut me some slack. Speaking of which," He held the breeches out to England, "You forgot to take these out when you did the others. When I tried to put them on they didn't close."
England sighed and reluctantly got out of bed, going for his own clothes, "Can't you just wear your other ones?"
"Come on, it's Christmas! I wanna look good! Well-" He looked down at his stomach, "As good as possible."
England rolled his eyes and began dressing himself, "Come now, America, you're scarcely showing. Once you have more than your shirt on no one will be able to tell. I've seen you measuring it and even I can't tell when you're fully dressed."
"You mean it?" He looked far too hopeful for England to tease him.
"I do."
America smiled, "That's good. I mean… I don't want people to think I'm fat."
"Even if they do, I know better. And I'm the one who warms your bed, remember."
"I-I do," America said with a blush. He turned around and left the room, "I'm gonna make breakfast. Come down when you're done!"
A Year of Surprises [7b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-04-30 02:42 am (UTC)(link)England smiled to himself and went to sit down at his desk with his needle and thread, beginning the process of loosening America's waistband. He'd have to make new clothes for him soon enough. He wrinkled his nose. America wouldn't even appreciate it, probably. When he saw how big they'd have to start he'd throw a fit, even though England would take both the top and bottom in by a mile. The boy simply didn't understand the cost of cloth, not to mention how conspicuous it would be to keep having to go back and buy more. England sighed. And how would he even estimate how big America would be when he was due? He knew how massive he himself got, but America was built very differently, and England had never compared to anyone else in the first place. It would probably be better to overestimate and deal with America's whining than have to make a new set or let him wander around naked. Although, really, he was due in late May so maybe it would be alright to do the latter…
Oh, how he longed for the days when a long tunic and hose were an acceptable fashion. It made the whole child-bearing business a lot easier. Hell, even though it was far out of vogue, England would switch to them once he went into hiding. He had the feeling that America would throw a fit, though, saying that England was trying to humiliate him by making him dress like a girl. What a little brat pregnancy had turned America into! Although, hadn't he always been prone to tantrums all along?
"God," He thought, "Why couldn't Canada have gone into heat instead?"
He shook his head and went back to work. There was no point in lamenting over that now. He made his bed and he would have to sleep in it now. He'd promised America and he would do his duty as a man and as an Empire and fulfill that promise.
He tried to pretend that his dream meant nothing and his word was all that held him.
By the time the church service had ended America was practically bouncing in their pew. England couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was almost inspired by the boy. He still actually paid attention. It probably didn't help that England had been through enough services when he had been infatuated with religion that he could probably rattle off the readings for every day of the year in perfect Latin and they didn't get any more interesting when he became Protestant and the prayers switched to English. He didn't even have the lovely lilt of Latin then. But America was so attentive, drawn in with his people. England wasn't sure if it was a virtue or a vice, really, but it would no doubt work itself out in time. Of course, now that the time for prayer was over, there was only one thing on America's mind.
"Oh man, the festivals up here are so awesome! I guess people get better at partying when it's really cold. I saw Mrs. Brown cooking all these little cakes the other day and I hope she's sharing them!"
He blathered on and on about all the food he'd smelled cooking and all the musicians he'd heard practicing and how he really, really wanted to dance and Lucy Cooper kept looking at him so maybe he'd have a partner, and- England tuned him out and watched the other people slowly filing out of the church and into the village square. All he really wanted was some hot buttered rum to get rid of the chill that always leaked into churches this time of year and then to maybe see if any of the craftspeople were selling any little baubles he liked. His brothers and America might have taunted him for it, but he did appreciate finely made decorations. They were beautiful and far too easy to overlook in a world of war and hunger and strife. Besides, if he was going to be living in that house for the next twenty years he would his curio cabinet to look a little less desolate.
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(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)January
America paced back and forth across England's bedroom, one hand placed protectively over his belly. He stopped to look out the window for the twentieth time in half as many minutes, eyes fixed on the road to town. England wouldn't be coming back down that road for nearly a week, but it wasn't him America was worried about at the time. No, he was waiting for someone else entirely.
Finally, he saw her rounding the bend on her father's white horse. He was glad she'd brought her; Carrot would finally have some company out in the stables. Although it would still be a few minutes until she actually reached the house, America ran downstairs and stood eagerly behind the door. It would be so nice to see someone other than England again, especially her. He'd missed her so bad while he'd been cooped up inside.
After what felt like an eternity, she knocked on the door. America wanted to throw it right open and hug her until she couldn't breathe. He knew he would have to take it slowly, though. He didn't want to scare her too much.
"Hi, Lucy," He said, opening the door just a crack.
She was biting her knuckle through her leather gloves and staring at him concernedly, "You've been sick in bed for a month and now I get a letter that just says to come over as soon as Arthur left town. What's wrong, Alfred? You don't even look sick."
"You're right," He said, smiling a little for her, "I'm not sick."
"Then why haven't I heard from you since December?"
He bit his lip, "This'll be easier if you don't think of me as Alfred for a little bit. I'm America right now, okay?"
"Alright," She said slowly.
"Okay, good. Now remember how I told you nations do some things differently?" She nodded, "Well, this is one of those things." He opened the door.
She wrinkled her brow, "I don't understand."
"You will. Come in." He led her to the salon and had her sit on the couch. He took her hands in his in case she panicked and ran.
"Alfred, please, what is going on?"
He took a deep breath, "Lucy, I- I'm pregnant."
She didn't run. She just stared at him blankly, "You're… what?"
"I'm pregnant. That's why I've gained all this weight," He said, gesturing to his swollen belly.
"But you're a man."
"I know. Hey, if you don't believe me now she'll probably start kicking again soon."
"So then how…?"
"No one really knows," He said, placing his hand back on his stomach, "Sometimes nations just go into heat and it doesn't stop until we have a kid."
"So who's the- the father?"
"England," He said, smiling at the thought of his lover.
"Your brother?"
"H-he's not really my brother." America said quickly, "We just say that because it makes more sense to humans."
She sat still for a moment, clearly thinking the situation over. Her eyes raked all over America's body, from his hands to his stomach to his face. He just tried to be still and let her read what she needed to.
"Well," She said finally, "God made all kinds of creatures differently. If He made men who live forever, I suppose He could have them carry children too."
America smiled, glad beyond words that she understood.
"Will you stay with me?" He asked, "I mean, I like England and all, but I get tired of only being around him sometimes."
"I'll visit you when I can," she said, "I have to help around the house, you know. I mean, except for my mother I'm the only woman in the family."
A Year of Surprises [8b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 05:04 pm (UTC)(link)"Good. Just- just don't tell England."
"Why not?"
"I don't think he trusts you. He's been a little overprotective of me lately. I don't want him to get mad at you."
"Is he alright? I mean, he's not mistreating you, is he?"
"What? No." America sat back, getting a bit more comfortable, "He's being absolutely fantastic. He's sweet and gentle and he takes really good care of me. It's just-"
"Just what?" She probed, leaning towards him.
"He treats me like such a kid sometimes. Sometimes I don't think he realizes I'm actually an adult, even with all this. Hell, there are plenty of times that it feels like he's just going with the 'give America whatever he wants' ideas when he takes me upstairs and-"
Lucy cleared her throat loudly. America blushed and looked away.
"Sorry," he muttered.
There was a moment of tense silence before Lucy spoke up again, "So how… how far along are you?"
"It was five months on Tuesday."
"You know the exact date?"
America chuckled, "Trust me, I'm pretty sure what day it happened. Anyway, it was kind of neat because that was when she first started kicking."
"How do you know it'll be a she?"
"Well, I've been craving sweet things and Arthur say's I'm carrying higher than he usually does, and from what I've heard that means it's a girl, right?"
Lucy laughed, "My mother was told I was another boy. That's not foolproof."
"She feels like a girl, though."
"What are you going to call her?"
"I'm not sure, yet. England and I were waiting to see what she was like to give her a name. I wanted Erin because it's a nice name, but he said he'd rather die than name his daughter after his sister. Right now we're thinking of Adrianna." As soon as he said the name, the baby delivered a harsh kick to his insides, "God! Do you like that or hate it?" He spared a glance at Lucy and found her staring at his belly. "You want to feel, don't you?"
She turned bright red. "I- that won't be necessary."
"It's alright. You know you can't lie to me. You're one of my babies too, you know."
"I know," She murmured, "it's still embarrassing."
He pulled his shirt out of his breeches, "Come on, don't worry about it. When are you gonna have the chance after you go to the convent?"
She smiled and reached out, "I suppose so."
Her hand felt weird. Only he and England had felt his bump before (well, them and Carrot, but her nuzzling didn't really count) and her hands were so different, smaller and pleasantly warm instead of ice cold or burning hot with nothing in between. Her touches were light and unsure, not at all like the comforting or possessive ones that he and England both used. He wasn't sure if it was Lucy or the cold air that sent the shiver down his spine, but as soon as that happened she pulled away.
"I'm still me, you know," He said, pulling his shirt down, "You don't have to be worried."
"I'm not."
America just smiled at her, knowing it wasn't true, "Come on, then, let's get something in you to warm you up and you can tell me what I've really missed in the last month."
Re: A Year of Surprises [8b/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-06-19 02:46 (UTC) - ExpandA!A
(Anonymous) - 2012-06-19 05:36 (UTC) - ExpandA Year of Surprises [9a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-04 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)February
In some ways, the long winter nights were the best times. England sat in his favorite armchair, working on knitting a blanket for the baby. America lay on the ground next to the fire with some new book England had bought for him when he was last in town.
"You do realize your back is going to hurt once you get up. If you can get up."
"Nah," America said, stretching briefly before returning to his curled up position. "I'm comfy like this."
England rolled his eyes, "Suit yourself."
He looked back down at the little blanket and sighed. He still had a long, long way to go and it was starting to get late.
He was about to yawn when America rolled onto his back and said, "Gettin' tired, England?"
For a moment England lost his tongue. He looked so beautiful like that, flat on his back with his stomach sticking out and that happy expression on his face. England didn't know what to say or do, so he relied on his first instinct.
"How would you know? You haven't even been looking!"
America laughed lightly, "Nope, but we've been stuck together for so long even I'm starting to pick up on this stuff." He traced patterns absentmindedly on his belly, "It's not like I have much else to do."
England pursed his lips. America was such a free spirit, it must have been hard for him to be kept inside, separated from his people. It would have been better if he could have gone outside, but the snow and cold kept that from being an option too. "We'll think of something," England finally said, "If nothing else, we're nearing the end of winter. The snow should start melting in a month."
"Yeah, but that's so long."
England set down his little blanket and tried not to smile. America didn't know how lucky he was. At least he had England to talk to.
"Well, do you have any ideas?"
"Actually," America said, sitting up, "I've been thinking about-" But then he suddenly stopped.
"Yes? What is it?"
"Um, could we sleep down here tonight?"
"That's all?"
America looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, "Well, it's a start."
"Where do you mean to sleep, though? The sofa is only big enough for one of us."
"When I said here, I meant here," He said, patting the rug he had been laying on.
"On the floor?"
"Why not?"
"We're both going to be dreadfully sore tomorrow."
"So? Sore's better than bored, and you can bring down all the pillows and cushions."
England sighed and stood. "I'm going to regret this."
America smiled triumphantly, "Bring the sheets too!"
England just rolled his eyes and went off to strip the bed.
By the time he came back down, America had already taken everything soft he could from every piece of furniture on the first floor. He lay spread-eagle in the middle of a pile of cushions he'd amassed in front of the fire, clearly comfortable.
"Proud of that, are you?" England asked
"Mmm-hmm," America hummed without opening his eyes.
"Well, budge up. I have to put the sheets on."
"Oh fine," America said, standing and getting out of the way.
England busied himself tucking the corners of the sheets under the pillows on the perimeter to try to keep their sham of a bed together. He felt America's eyes on him and started to feel warm. He shook his head. America had seen him a million times in a million more compromising positions. Why was he suddenly feeling embarrassed? He looked up to meet America's eyes. The look he was giving England was almost predatory and that combined with the way America was currently towering over him made him slightly uneasy. He wasn't used to being beneath America. He left the rest of the blankets to the side and just stared.
America got down on his hands and knees so that he was on England's level. England suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. "You look so cute crawling around like that," He said, nuzzling him.
"I'm not cute." England huffed.
"Of course you are." He kissed him, "But I don't have to say it if you don't want me to."
A Year of Surprises [9b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-04 05:21 pm (UTC)(link)England huffed, but kissed him again anyway.
"You're beautiful like this, you know," America said, brushing a strand of England's hair behind his ear, "Rolling around on the floor in front of a low fire."
"I am not rolling!"
"Well, we can fix that." In spite of the size of his pregnancy, America pounced on England and forced him down onto the cushions.
"Why you-!" England grabbed his shoulders and pushed him off.
With a laugh, America sprung again, shoving him over once more. England retaliated again. He wanted to be angry with America. This was no way to be acting, especially in his current state. What if England accidentally kicked him in the stomach? What if the exertion forced him into incredibly premature labor? But as the game wore on and America showed no sign of any pain that smile and laugh began to win England over. He was quite thoroughly enjoying himself by the time he managed to pin America properly.
"I still can't beat you, can I?" America asked breathlessly.
"You still have a lot to learn, boy." England said triumphantly.
"Well, since you won you get the prize."
"Prize?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah," America closed his eyes and leaned up to kiss him.
"That's all I get?" England asked when they pulled apart, "One little kiss?"
"Nah. You also get to stay up there as long as you want." He lifted one knee to nudge England's groin, "If you know what I mean."
England flushed bright red but tried to cover it with a smirk. "I would love that, darling."
America rolled his shoulders, "Come get me, then."
England quickly began to work on undoing America's waistcoat. "I'm going to have to take this out again," He muttered as he worked the strained buttons over America's belly.
"Yeah, our little girl's getting nice and big, isn't she?"
"Still sure it'll be a girl?" England asked, kissing America's stomach.
"Hey, I'm the one whose insides are getting pulverized on a daily basis."
England chuckled, "Of course, dear."
After that he began to slow, reverently undoing every button on America's shirt and trousers. He was so lovely now, big and heavy with child and still so needy in spite of it. Oh, and he wasn't even close to done growing yet. There were still three months to go. Christ, it almost made England hard on the spot thinking of how big he would get. He focused instead on the current America and the way he was mewling and writhing on the ground, completely bare before him.
"Careful not to undo this lovely bed you've made."
"Quit teasing me." America said, frowning and whacking him lightly on the shoulder. He shivered, reminding England that he had yet to remove a stitch of his own clothing.
England stood and began to tear at whatever he could reach.
"Hey, come on! Give me a show, baby."
"A- a what?" England asked, willing to let the pet name slide for the moment.
"Like I said, show me what you've got!"
"W-where did you get this ridiculous idea? You haven't been talking to France behind my back again, have you?"
America shook his head and smiled, "Nah, I came up on this one all by myself. I wanna see you take off your clothes for me. Nice and slow."
Slightly confused, England began to carefully undo his buttons one by one. America lay back with a satisfied smile on his face. Well, as long as he was enjoying this… England continued like that, in spite of how cold he was getting. Well, America always used to tease his nipples until they were hard, maybe this would turn him on more.
The thought drew England's eyes to America's chest. His nipples had gotten so big and dark recently, almost brown in color and the flesh beneath them had grown stiff. He wondered if America was making milk yet. He wondered if when he closed his mouth around one of those beautiful brown spots and sucked he'd be rewarded with a little something more than America's groans.
A Year of Surprises [9c/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-04 17:23 (UTC) - ExpandA Year of Surprises [9d/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-04 17:23 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Year of Surprises [9d/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-05 03:02 (UTC) - ExpandA Year of Surprises [10a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-13 02:28 am (UTC)(link)March
The snow melting was the best thing that had happened in months. The first day America saw grass, he ran out to the stables before breakfast. England had made him promise to be careful, since it was difficult to ride a horse when one was roughly the size of a cow. (He had really said that it could be dangerous if America fell, but why else would he fall? It had never happened to him before.) Of course, he broke that promise as quickly as possible. The moment he was sure that he was hidden by the trees, he gave Carrot a sharp jab to her flanks and they rode off at breakneck speed.
America threw his head back and breathed in the fresh air. It tasted so sweet after the way he'd been cooped up for the whole winter. The wind ran through his hair with even more affection than England's fingers. He felt the steady beat of his land coursing through him, as steady and personal as his breathing and heartbeat.
It was almost odd how spiritual the experience was. America closed his eyes and let go of Carrot's reins. Instead, he placed his hands on her neck. Even though she wasn't human, she was still part of him. Americans were Americans, and they were all his babies. What did number of legs matter? He steered her through their connection, gently pushing her simple mind to take them one way or another. It was rare that he used his abilities so fully, but it was a day for it. He was free and wild and hadn't felt so much like himself in years.
He allowed the feeling to expand further. No longer was it just Carrot's head, but down her spine, through her nerves, into her hooves, and then into the ground she steadily beat against. Suddenly, he was everywhere at once. Suddenly, he knew everything that was happening from Georgia to the farthest reaches of Massachusetts where the northern bits rubbed against Canada's land. In fact, he could feel his brother's softer presence like he was snuggling against him. Spain was to his south, bright and warm and energetic. But more important than all of that was the information that he suddenly could see, things he had known all along but hadn't bothered to look for. In New York a man named Peter Miller was bargaining for eggs because he was saving to buy his wife an anniversary present. In Charleston, Sally Hopkins was thinking about giving her virginity to Charlie White, who himself had already planned his proposal to her but at the moment was still asleep and dreaming about the dog he'd had as a boy. Somewhere in an unnamed part of the west a mouse that was about to starve to death found a farmer's grain storage. The baby he was carrying loved him.
That thought shocked him more than what he'd seen throughout his land. He slowed Carrot to a halt and pulled his awareness closer to block out everything else. He'd never been inside of an unborn baby's mind so closely before. It wasn't completely simple like an animal's, but it wasn't complex like an adult's or even a child's. It felt sort of hazy, like it was trying to be sentient but wasn't quite there yet. There were no words in her mind or even pictures, just sensations and flashes of light and dark, but in spite of that there were things that she just somehow knew.
Her World was small and she understood that. She knew that her World was inside of another person and there was a bigger place outside of that. She didn't know who America was, but she knew he was the only thing that mattered. He gave her food through the cord coming from her belly, he gave her air even though she couldn't breathe, whenever he was happy she would be too, and he and the Other One (England, presumably) were the only ones that paid attention to her. She listened to their voices, felt them pressing gently against her world's edge. She didn't know what seeing quite was, but she wanted to actually see them, not just blurry silhouettes.
A Year of Surprises [10b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-13 02:29 am (UTC)(link)America wrapped his arms around his belly and hugged it as tightly as he could. He reached out and touched her consciousness as he had with Carrot's. However, this time instead of sending orders he sort of nuzzled her with it. He gave her warmth and let her know mommy and daddy loved her too.
She was scared and confused at first, kicking wildly in the hopes that somehow it would make things go back to normal. She recognized his presence, but she didn't know how.
America soothed her gently, both with his mind and with his hands. "Hush, Aidie," He said softly, "It's just me. Don't be scared."
She settled after a few moments, finally understanding that the person who had her World was showing her love in a new way. She embraced him after that, trying to show him things that America already knew.
Maybe he should do this sort of thing more often, he realized. After all, his daughter had a very interesting point of view. He dismounted and sat down on a fallen log, lazily rubbing his stomach. Adrianna wasn't exactly giving him intelligent conversation, but the ability to talk to his child like that was good enough.
He looked out and realized with a start Carrot had taken him out to the cliff. The last time he'd been there was back in September. God, he was so scared, so damn angry at the world back then. It was much less pretty now, with all the trees looking dead and not a single sign of life except for a few forlorn-looking crows flying a few miles off, but he was so much happier. It didn't matter that his land was still drowsy with winter that had not quite thawed, he felt more alive than he had in months. He started laughing and pulled back into himself.
"I win, symbolism." He said, standing back up.
"Win what?"
America almost jumped out of his shoes. He had been so focused on himself and his baby that he hadn't noticed Lucy coming up behind him, walking her father's horse. He grinned when he saw her and ran over to give her a big hug.
"What are you doing here?" He asked when he pulled away.
"I wanted to see you, and since I woke up and the snow was gone I thought there'd be a good chance you'd be here."
"I'm glad you were right," America said with a laugh, "How have you been?"
"Good," She said. Her smile fell, "My father is pushing for me to get married again, though. My mother and sisters can handle the housework on their own and I think he doesn't like the extra expense of having me around."
America scowled, "I hate that. You're not some cow that needs to be sold off. You're a great girl, Lucy."
She smiled weakly, "Thanks. It doesn't change anything, though. I think he's going to arrange something soon, though. He's been talking to the Jeffersons. One of their sons is of marrying age now and-" She took a deep breath, "It's a good path, but it's not mine, Alfred."
America thought for a moment. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a happy ending, there just had to be. Suddenly, he got an idea.
"Why don't you come work for us?"
"What?"
"It'll be great." He took her hands in his, "You can work as my and England's maid! Then your dad can't complain about you being useless, even though you weren't to begin with."
"Are you sure that's alright?"
"Yeah! If nothing else, a lot of people think we're a couple. If your dad thinks I'm courting you he'll get off of your back!"
She smiled, "That's great!"
"Now all we have to do is get England to approve it. Come on, let's go talk to him."
A Year of Surprises [10c/12]
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(Anonymous) - 2012-07-13 04:37 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Year of Surprises [10d/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-13 08:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Year of Surprises [10d/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-13 18:34 (UTC) - ExpandA Year of Surprises [11a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-20 04:03 pm (UTC)(link)April
America tried to get enough sleep. Really, he did. He'd go to bed early and not rush himself awake in the morning, but he just wasn't doing it. It felt like he couldn't get comfortable. The baby didn't help. Most of the time she'd try to be still, but she would always wiggle around just a little bit like she was as unusually uncomfortable as he was.
Even when England came to bed it made no difference because he just basically perched on the far side of the mattress. Sometimes America felt like it was just like their stupid geography, with miles and miles keeping them apart. Of course, it was no better when they were awake. They barely talked anymore. England had started to close himself in his study more often. He claimed that the king wanted him to do more work, but America was sure he was just avoiding him.
One night he decided he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He lay still for a good while, staring out the window with one hand curled protectively around his belly. Aidie was trying to kick her way out but he paid her no mind. He didn't move when England first came in, or when he took off his clothes and set them neatly on the chair. He waited until England finally slid between the sheets and took his now-default position at the farthest reaches of the bed. Even then America didn't turn or gesture or anything. He just opened his mouth.
"Hey England?"
He heard England stiffen beside him, as though he hadn't known America was awake. However, he quickly settled himself. The sheets rustled and the mattress moved as England turned to look at him. "What is it?"
America still didn't turn to look at him. It was dark anyway. Besides, he didn't know if he could take it. "Are we- are we gonna be okay?"
"I don't suppose you mean both of us individually, do you?"
"No."
England sighed, "I don't know, America, I really don't know."
America clenched his jaw.
"I want us to be, though." England set a hand on America's shoulder and he both wanted to shake it off and hold it closer, "I want this to work."
"I do too."
There were a million things America should have said. "I'm sorry I didn't really let you get to know Lucy before I got her to work here." "I wish that you could just treat me like an adult." "Please trust me more often." "For God's sake, talk to me again!" But instead he just said, "I love you, England, I really do."
"I love you too." England finally came closer and pressed his warm, solid body against America's back, "I know this won't be easy. Neither of us are used to sharing. But maybe this'll be good for us. All of this."
America took England's hand in his, "How could this past month have possibly been good?"
"We had to fight eventually. We're both so bloody stubborn that it's bound to have happened some day. But since it happened now, before the baby came, I had time to think until I realized that. And since I promised to stay until the child is grown, I wouldn't piss off back home and then be too proud to turn around and come right back."
"But what about after Aidie grows up?" America curled around himself as best he could, "I can't keep pushing out babies forever."
"I wouldn't expect you to," England replied softly, "I hope we'll have learned how to be together by then. I'll have to go home, but maybe the next time one of us has to carry we can do this again. After all, every year it seems they're coming up with ways to cross the Atlantic faster and faster. During that time I'll write."
A Year of Surprises [11b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-20 04:04 pm (UTC)(link)"I'm afraid we'll drift apart."
"I am too. But, God, America," England wrapped his arms around America's chest and held him close, "You have no idea. Before I found you I was scared and alone and constantly being harassed. That last bit still happens, but you gave me hope and happiness and something to fight for other than myself. And now we're going to have a family, a proper one, not like mine where my mother disappeared and then my siblings turned on me and tried to kill me. And I think that with you I can do that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I- I don't want to lose you."
He buried his face in America's shift. America wanted to say something, but couldn't. He couldn't even think of something to say. It was like there was a block in his brain or his throat or both. He heard England's breath catch several times. God, he was crying, wasn't he?
Now it was time to move, America rolled over and hugged him back, "I'm here," He said, "And I will always be here."
England pulled away and smiled sadly, "Don't be daft, love, all things end eventually."
America leaned forward and kissed away England's tears, "Well, I'm gonna live forever or die trying." That actually got a laugh out of him, "England, I haven't been alive very long by your standards, but even I know that things do change, and they usually change in ways no one sees coming. So there's no point in worrying. Just enjoy the here and now. I'm here. Our baby's here. The bed is warm and comfortable. We're gonna be okay."
"I thought you were the one who was unsure of that."
"I was," He laughed, "But now I'm not."
Just like he thought the bed was uncomfortable but now it wasn't, not with England so close to him. So that's all he was really missing.
"Goodnight, America."
"Goodnight, England.
And curled around him like that, America had his best night's sleep in months.
Re: A Year of Surprises [11b/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-20 19:19 (UTC) - ExpandRe: A Year of Surprises [11b/12]
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-20 21:22 (UTC) - ExpandA Year of Surprises [12a/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-27 06:34 pm (UTC)(link)May 1954
England stared at the door in front of him. He swallowed and looked down at the paper clutched in his hand, making sure for the millionth time that he had the right apartment. At that point he was just stalling for time. America grown so much and England had fallen so hard, being around his presence was like looking into the sun and it was blaring just inside.
He had more right to be here than the other two times he'd come. He and America were friends now, at least. "A special relationship" His boss had said. But for some reason he was never so nervous: not when he had stumbled over drunk and heartbroken in 1788, and not a century later when he'd come with the pretext of trade. He was fully entitled to come for a visit, and it wasn't unusual for that to include a shag. But he just felt so weak now, like America could break him in half with a finger. Finally rationing had ended, but he still felt like a shell of his formal self. Why had it come now?
He screwed up his courage. Even if he was half dead, he'd had the world at his command not too long ago and above all else he was a British gentleman and had to stand firm. He knocked three times on the door. It sounded a lot more sure than his shaking hands should have allowed. (He told himself that the trembling was from that hunger that hadn't stopped gnawing at his bones since the war. That was why it had gone on since the Blitz.)
"Hey!" America said opening the door, "I was wondering when you'd finally knock."
England ignored the barb and turned slightly away as though being there was an annoying chore, "Hullo. My boss asked me to come visit, improve relations and all that."
"Sure he did. I think he'd tell you to move in if the queen would let him."
America let out a laugh, but something seemed wrong. He was still standing in the doorway, like there was something he didn't want England to see. Well, that was all the more reason to talk himself inside.
"Mind if I come in? It's raining out so it'd be nice to warm up a bit."
"Sure," America said, finally stepping back, "That's fine."
His tone was slightly forced, making it clear that it wasn't fine, but England deserved a turn pretending to be oblivious. He smiled and entered. There was nothing unusual in his apartment that England noticed. There were pictures of America with various people on the walls. His furniture was simple and cheaply made, but he had a television and a few comfortable-looking chairs around it.
"I don't have any tea or nothin, but I can make you some coffee," America said stiffly.
"That would be nice." England said. Any excuse to stay was a good one. He didn't know how long it would take him to talk his way into America's bed, but he wanted to do it before America got suspicious.
He sat at the table and allowed America to bustle around the kitchenette. He looked around the house, trying to remember the layout so that he was less likely to bump into something while he was kissing America towards the bed. Or couch. It didn't really matter where as long as it happened soon.
"Do you want some milk?" America asked, leaning from around the open refrigerator door. "I don't have any cream."
"And some sugar too, please." England replied, turning to look at him.
It was at that point that England saw that he had some crude crayon drawings taped to the door. Wow, so all of those rumors about his art were true. England was about to make a snide comment about that when he noticed a lot of them were of him and the same little girl. Now that was odd. He knew America loved children, but why would he keep the same subject? He actually opened his mouth to ask when he got his answer.
A Year of Surprises [12b/12]
(Anonymous) 2012-07-27 06:35 pm (UTC)(link)"Daddy?" A little voice called from the hallway, "I thought you were gonna come read me a bedtime story."
America's eyes widened and he turned around. England peeked around him to look at the girl. She was a little blonde thing, probably only about six years old. She held a little white teddy bear and was wearing a pale blue nightdress. But the thing that struck him about her the most were her eyes, her huge brilliantly green eyes. His eyes.
He couldn't help but stare at her. He began to notice other little pieces, her nose, her chin. God, why hadn't America told him?
"You weren't going to tell America about yours. You haven't told America about yours."
"Don't worry, Lizzie, I will." America walked over and lifted her into his arms, "I was about to when one of my friends came to the door."
The girl, Lizzie- He had named her Elizabeth! – Looked at England over America's shoulder, "Who is he? I don't think I've seen him before."
England's heart lurched. She hadn't. He hadn't been there. He'd fathered plenty of children without looking back. He was a fucking nation! That's what they did. Portugal never knew about Audrey. France never knew about Mary. That sailor never knew about Jonathan. Hell, America never knew about Martha and Allan. So why- why did he feel so bad about this Lizzie?
"We're old friends. His name is Arthur."
She waved, "Hi Arthur!"
"Hello," he said, more out of habit than anything since his brain had short-circuited.
"Yep, but now you have to go to sleep."
"But he just got here!"
"I know, Liz," He kissed her forehead, "But it's past your bedtime. Besides, it's been years since I've seen Artie, so we have a lot to catch up on."
He walked away with his daughter in his arms. England, for his part, just stared down at his coffee. He couldn't think, he just stared, watching the steam rise into the air.
America returned about ten minutes later and sat down on the other side of the table. His face was more serious than England had seen it since he found out about Hiroshima.
"I'm guessing from the look on your face you know now, huh?" He asked.
England nodded, "And she doesn't. She doesn't even know who you really are."
"No. She's too young. I'll explain it to her later when she's old enough not to tell anyone."
"Will you tell her about me?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He took a long drink from his own coffee, "But I don't think you're here just to chat. If it was to build relations you would have called."
England smiled, "I'm actually quite glad you're not as stupid as everyone likes to think."
America smiled back, "Well, it's easier if people think you can't tell your ass from an ice pick, so I'm glad I pull it off."
"Quite well."
"Now enough with the small talk." He set his cup down, "Liz is an early riser and I have to make her breakfast before school tomorrow."
England sighed and placed his elbows on the table. "Well, since I've seen your daughter now I'll be forward with you. It's my turn, I suppose. I'm in heat."
"And you came all the way over here?"
"Yes."
"Why? It seems like an awfully long way to go when you're surrounded by a million other guys on your own continent."
A Year of Surprises [12c/12]
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